Rise
by SassyRaptor
Summary: Trish and Dez have a long trek ahead of them as they struggle to find their best friends and return home - where they're sure they will be safe. But just how safe can they truly be when death starts walking? Rated T for violence, violent descriptions, and language.
1. Hide

"_Dez._"

She isn't sure if the lack of a response from the redhead had to do with him not hearing her, or him ignoring her. The latter isn't all that usual for him. Sure, he'd forget things and would often not fully pay attention. Ignore her on _purpose? Something must be up_, she decides.

"_Dez!_" the curly-haired young woman repeats with more vehemence, reaching her hand across the table and pulling his plate of fries towards her. The freckled boy refuses to look up at her, his eyes trained on his hands fiddling with a loose string at the hem of his shirt. She takes a bite out of one of his fries.

_Had the breakup been that bad?_ Carrie _was_ his first love, sure. But it's been three months. And it's not like he did not see it coming. Dez never seemed the type who would be able to manage a long-distance relationship, what with how physically affectionate he is. He and Carrie had called off the relationship mutually, realizing that it wasn't working. He'd been taking it hard ever since, and gradually worse by the day.

Trish expels a heavy sigh. Even _she_ has to admit that she misses the loud and obnoxious Dez she has come to relatively put up with.

"Dez, come on. You're making Austin and Ally feel bad. They feel like they can't even act like a couple around you now. _And you're their number one supporter!_" she tries to reason with him. "I get that you're upset. It's fine that you still love her. You remember that advice you gave me a while back? _'If you love something, set it free?' _Dez – are you even listening to me?!"

He mutters something just barely audible. Trish squints her eyes, as if it would somehow help her understand him better. "What was that?" she asks, picking up another one of his fries.

"_I said_ I want my fries back." He pulls the plate back to his side. "Why didn't you just order your own, Trish?"

"You'd be paying for it anyway,_ and you know it._"

"Whatever. When are Austin and Ally getting back from their date?" His impatience with her is clear. It had always been the other way around. _He_ annoys _her. She_ gets irritated by _him._ This? This, she's not used to. She doesn't enjoy it, feeling like a nuisance to him. They used to get along – at least half the time. That never changed the fact that they are friends. _Best _friends, even. Although, perhaps she had expected too much if he's willing to throw all that away over a girl.

Not that she has an issue with Carrie. In fact, the two girls had become pretty close. Sure, Carrie may not have been the most _scholarly_ conversationalist, but they had gotten along alright. She seemed perfect enough for Dez; they certainly had plenty in common. Although Trish _had_ worried that their similar personalities and quirks, combined together, may end them in the hospital. They needed to be kept in check.

"Ally said they'd be back around seven. We've still got…" she trails off as she pulls out her phone to check the time. "Another hour or so." Austin and Ally had gone off to explore the beautiful city of Orlando, where the four of them decided to spend their vacation. Sight-seeing mostly; it really didn't matter what the couple did, though – they just enjoyed each other's company. With their particularly busy lives, balancing career with college classes, they hardly ever get chances to spend time together. They figured they deserved a day to themselves on this vacation.

Trish and Dez stayed back at the hotel today, figuring that they needed a day of relaxation after spending week experiencing the Walt Disney World resort. The two leave the hotel eventually, however, to grab some food at a nearby burger joint.

"_Great_," Dez huffs, sinking back in his chair. He looks off to the side, watching a smiling couple walk by – their hands clasped together. Trish frowns, her eyes still focusing on her friend across the table.

"Dez, is this about Carrie? Or are you upset with _me_?" She couldn't help asking. It's not like their friendship is meaningless to her – as much as she might lead people to believe so at times. She wishes more than anything that they would be able to hang out like they used to; their usual banter, the laughs, the antics…Even the snide remarks they threw at each other. _Even when he annoyed her beyond comprehension. _The good old days.

Perhaps those days will simply end up being fond memories? Nostalgia's the devil.

"_What?_" The redhead turns to face her, his voice and face softening as he notices the genuinely melancholy nature of her countenance. "I'm not upset with _you_, Trish," he consoles her. He's been oblivious to how his actions and attitude had been affecting his friends. Guilt weighing down on him, he pushes the fries back over to her across the table. "Here, I'm not hungry."

"Then why are you being like this? What did I do? What did _Austin and Ally_ do? We get that you're hurting – and we've been nothing, but supportive. _What's going on with you?_" she demands, aggression in her tone rising. Dez shrinks in his chair.

"I didn't realize I was being such a burden to you guys…" He rests his head on the table, proceeding to wallow in remorse and misery. Now she'd done it. Needing to appease him, she moves over to the chair by his side. She rubs his back, attempting to comfort him to the best of her abilities. It's not exactly something she's an expert at.

"You're _not_ a burden, Dez. We just want to help you feel better, but you need to work with us here," she assures to him softly – her belligerence fading away. He lifts his heavy head off the table, sitting up straight in his seat, eyes fixated on his hands again.

"It's not just Carrie, but that _is_ part of it. I just…It feels like I'm stuck. That I'm not going anywhere. I mean, I've been trying to get a foothold in the film industry, but I'm just not getting a break, y'know? Even after all the music videos I directed and edited for Austin, all I'm getting is a few low-grade freelance jobs here and there. And it's really sucky, gimmicky stuff, too." Shaking his head, he takes in a large quantity of air and exhales slowly before continuing on. "And ending my relationship with Carrie…The _one thing_ that gave me hope…It just broke me, I guess. Finding a girl like her, a girl I really liked who actually liked me back – that's not exactly easy to come by for me. _And you know that._"

Trish is at a loss for words, knowing that whatever advice she could possibly give him, Austin probably already gave him. She decides on the next best thing, something she's good at.

"C'mon, you doof. I'm sure _some_ girl will be dumb enough to wanna date you," she lightly punches his arm. "Now let's get outta here and go to the arcade or something. I'm sure that _Zaliens Attack_ game and all that sugary soda you're probably going to down within seconds will distract you _plenty._" Dez nods in agreement, some of the heaviness shifting off of him. Trish hops up onto her feet, grabs his hand and forcefully pulls him up onto his, then proceeds to drag him away.

"_Wait!_ My fries!" he proclaims, reaching one hand out towards them as he's being pulled in the opposite direction.

"Forget it, Freckles, we can buy more later."

"But–" Before another word could escape his lips, the call of what seems to be an emergency siren blares across the area. Trish releases Dez's hand to cover her ears, the sound much too loud for even her to handle. Dez mirrors her actions, watching as everyone around them runs about frantically, screaming. Just what was going on?

A loud boom echoes over the blaring alarm – distant, yet tremendous. Dez finds himself knocked down onto his hands and knees as folks rush by them, pushing and shoving.

Trish, hating the helplessness overcoming her at this moment, starts to force people out of her way. _No one shoves Trish de la Rosa around._ Between the flurry of bodies surrounding her, she spots something mighty peculiar in the distance for approximately two seconds. A figure of what seems to be a man, staggering as he walks. Why isn't he running like the rest of them? Is he injured? An unsettling feeling falls into the pit of her stomach. The horde of people gets denser and she loses sight of the man.

"_Trish!_" Dez cries out to her as he loses her in the crowd.

"_I'm right here!_" she replies from behind him. She grasps onto his arm, taking a seat next to him, trying to avoid getting trampled by the frenzied swarm about them. He pulls her closer towards him to get her out of the way of the rampage.

"What's going on?!" he attempts to shout over the alarm and the screams.

"Whatever it is, we should probably get outta here, like they all are!" she responds, just barely hearing him. As the crowd disperses and leaves them more room to move about, the two friends get back onto their feet and scope out the perimeter. The lurching man Trish had spotted earlier is now nowhere to be seen.

On the move now, they look about themselves, hoping to find some sort of refuge. Avoiding the masses of people is less of an issue now, as most of them had moved on ahead – though many cars stray behind, stuck in traffic. The drivers honk incessantly, trying to clear the area.

Trish and Dez proceed towards the nearest secure-looking building. This nearby club proves to appear a sound-enough safehouse, and with the bouncer nowhere in sight, they try their way in.

The sign posted above the entrance of _The Spot_ reads "closed". Dez acts quickly, fishing a bobby pin out of Trish's hair, receiving a glare from her. He dismisses her anger as he's more afraid for their safety now than he is of her. He puts his ear close to the lock as he maneuvers the pin around within the keyhole.

Click.

They sneak inside, shutting the doors behind them. Much to their surprise, no alarms go off. At least, not ones they can hear. It's Trish's turn to think on her feet.

"What are you doing?" Dez questions the girl as he watches her barricade the double-doors with whatever large pieces of movable furniture she can find.

"Shut up and hand me those chains over there!" she orders him. He complies, struggling to lift the heavy set of chains as he brings them over to her. Upon receiving them, Trish pulls them through the loops of the door handles, and then clicks the lock, connected to the chains, closed.

"Trish, that lock looks tricky - I don't think I can pick that one. And we don't have a key for it, either. What if we can't get out?"

"I'm more concerned with what can get _in_ if we don't," she admits as she checks the lock. The image of the limping figure relentlessly dominates her mind. Dez raises a brow at her.

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

* * *

"It appears that there's been an incident," states the voice over the AM radio station. "Our experts are looking into what could possibly be a nuclear attack. We are still unsure of the number of casualties. With everyone frantically trying to escape the vicinity, the military is having a difficult time getting through."

"_Military?_" Dez gulps. "Are we under attack?"

"_Shush!_ I'm trying to hear." Trish clamps her hand over the boy's mouth.

"Wait, hold on! I've received a statement informing us that this was no attack, rather a possible experiment gone wrong," the reporter announces. Trish drops her hand from Dez's mouth once he's quieted down. "A local biological research lab has been blown apart. They're positive that the root of the explosion came from within the premises. There's a possible danger of something having escaped the lab, but we are not quite sure what – be – I – even…" Static.

"What the–?" Trish shakes her myTab, as if that would somehow fix the problem. "_What happened?_"

"There must be some interference," Dez infers, taking the myTab from her. He checks the settings. "Well, you're still connected to the Wi-Fi, so – wait, never mind…You just got disconnected."

"What the heck is happening?" She sinks in the seat of the sofa, trying to take it all in. She pulls out her phone and taps Ally's number on her list of recent calls. She hears the dial tone, running all the way until she hears Ally's voice. Alas, just her voicemail message. She tries again. No answer.

After a few more failed tries, and some attempted calls to Austin, her family, and various other contacts, she groans in frustration, tossing her phone aside. Dez's phone had already died earlier that day, so it'd prove useless.

"Damn it," she curses. "No luck. I don' know if the phone lines are dead or not; I'm still hearing the dial tone." A bang on the wall from the outside throws the two off guard. Trish flinches and Dez jumps onto her lap in fear, clinging onto her for safety.

They can hear the screaming and what appears to be rioting outside. Endless. As if on a loop.

"Get offa me, whack-a-doodle!" Trish rebukes him as she dumps him off of her lap. Dez jumps back onto the sofa beside her, pulling his knees in and wrapping his arms around them.

"I'm scared, Trish," he whimpers, rocking slightly to calm himself down.

"I'm sure it'll all be over soon. Pull yourself together, Dez!" she snaps at him. She scans the dark room, squinting her eyes in order to inspect it. They weren't able to get any of the lights to turn on, so their sole sources of illumination were the dying myTab, her phone – which will die eventually – and the soon-to-fade daylight coming in from the few windows near the high ceiling of the building. "There's _gotta_ be supplies in here."

"How long do you think we're gonna be stuck here?" he inquires, letting go of his legs and letting his feet fall back onto the ground.

"Like I said, probably not long. But we should stock up – _just in case._" She pushes herself up off of her seat and commences scavenging through the club. Dez follows suit, pulling Trish's phone out of her pocket and using its flashlight feature to assist them.

The roaring sounds of the herds of people outside the building continue for a while as they scavenge. It isn't until it reaches dead silence that the duo _really_ begin to fret.


	2. Realize

Trish stirs in her sleep, awakening slowly, but surely – completely disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. In her lucid state, she assumed that everything that she had experienced the day before must have been part of a dream. Of course, finding herself in the club, one she could have sworn that she had dreamt up, is enough to get her on edge.

And if that isn't enough, Dez is nowhere to be seen.

She sits up on the couch, tossing the tablecloth, which she had used as a makeshift blanket, aside. She turns her head to the empty sofa chair that her friend had fallen asleep on last night. The impression on the place he sat still fresh, she figures that he must have gotten up just recently. He couldn't have gotten far, now could he?

She slides off the couch, onto her feet, stretching out her torso. She pushes at the bottom of her back with her palms, straightening out her spine. With a couple cricks and cracks, some slightly misaligned vertebrae are popped back into place. It's a wonder she was able to fall asleep at all last night, the couch feeling as rugged as a boulder, _and_ just as stiff.

_Wait a second,_ she pauses as she gathers her thoughts. Sleep. She had fallen asleep. _Shit, _she curses internally, recalling what she had promised her friend the night before.

* * *

_"Yeah, I'll keep watch now, Dez. You rest. I got this."_

"_Y-you sure, Trish? I-I…I don't know if I can even go to sleep. I'm scared."_

"_Just shut up and go to sleep, you doof!"_

"_Fine…"_

* * *

"_DEZ!_" she calls out to the boy, growing more and more perturbed by the eerie silence following the echo of her own voice. The very un-Dez-like silence. Certainly if he was scoping about, his clumsiness would lead to quite the cacophonous commotion, knowing just how he is. Especially when he's _trying_ his darndest to stay quiet.

Her heart rate speeding up by the second, not just at the thought of her own self being all alone in an uncertain situation – but, frankly, fearful for Dez's sake. The poor boy, as much as he enjoys playing "superhero", would never fare well in an actual combative situation. His inability to fend for himself resulted in Trish taking on the burden of that responsibility_. And she's already lost sight of him._

She calms her nerves by humming a tune; one of the songs her bestie had written for her when they were young. Ally's words always managed to somehow encourage her and help her feel at home.

_Ally…_Trish squints her eyes shut, praying internally for her best friend's safety. And for the safety of her friend, Austin, as well. Knowing them, they're probably looking after each other. Austin's strong enough, Ally's smart enough – _they must be okay_, she tries to reassure herself. And her family are the De La Rosas – as tough as she is. They'd be fine, as well, right?

"_Dez!_" she calls him once again. The continued silence sends sharp chills up her back. _Where the heck did that whack-a-doodle run off to without telling me?!_, she wonders, her mental raging on the verge of being released externally – her fear threatening to come alive as anger. It's the only way she would be able to deal with the situation, if she wishes to keep it together. Anger would save her.

"T-T-T-Trish?" her friend's quivering voice replies as he emerges from the men's room. "I-I was just in the b-b-b-bathroom." He wraps his arms around himself as he continues to shake. "The b-bathrooms here are _really _cold."

"You _idiot,_ you had me worried for nothing!" she rebukes him as she marches over to release her pent-up fury in the form of a shove. He loses his balance, but manages to catch himself before falling by grabbing onto the short girl's shoulders for support.

"But I had to _pee_," he explains with a pout. She pries his hands off of her, then drops them from her grasp.

"_I don't care._ You should've woken me up and told me you were going!" she crosses her arms and sits herself back on the couch. Dez takes a seat back on his sofa chair.

"Trish, you _saw_ something – _didn't you?_" He leans forward, resting his elbows in his lap. He scans his eyes over her irritable mug, looking for any clues as to what could possibly be going through her mind. "You're _scared._"

"I am _not._ And…I-I didn't see _anything_, you doof," she rebuts, lowering her eyes to cold, tiled floor. She picks up her feet and pulls them under her on the couch for warmth. Dez could practically feel the uncertainty reverberating through her otherwise commanding voice. He hoists his tired frame off of the chair and takes a seat next to her on the couch.

"Look, you have three different ways of calling me 'doof', okay? I know the differences between them," he begins to explain. "There's _you_ _doof_," he states, his tone caked in bitterness and annoyance. "You say it like that when you're irritable. Or maybe gassy." He scrunches his brows together, attempting to mock her facial expression, as well. Trish rolls her eyes. "Then there's, you _doof_," he coos, smoothly, a coy smirk upon his face. "You said it like that when you're trying to thank me or something, but you don't wanna actually say it. Or when I make you laugh. The _affectionate_ doof." Trish, eyes half-lid and her rage slowly growing, nudges him with her elbow.

"_Just get to the point!_" she urges.

"The way you just said 'you doof'," he continues, turning a deaf ear to her temper for the moment. "…That's the _nervous_ 'doof'. The _defensive_ 'doof'. The kind you use when you're _unsure. _The kind you use when you're _scared._" He rests a hand on her shoulder. "What are you afraid of? You know something I don't – _don't you?_" She raises a brow at him, scooting away on the couch. His hand drops from her shoulder in the process.

"The only thing that's scaring me right now is the fact that you pay _way_ too much attention to the way I say things, you _doof._"

"See!" He snaps his fingers. "That's the _angry_ one," he states smugly, pulling at his suspenders with pride. "I'm good at this." Upon releasing them, they snap back onto his chest. "O-ow." He rubs the stinging, afflicted area. Trish bursts into laughter, louder than she would have allowed herself if she could control it.

"You _doof_," she states between her giggles as her laughter dies down. Dez points to her.

"There – that's my favorite. The _affectionate_ one. Although, I gotta say, the _angry_ one _is _pretty funny." He lets out a light laugh. Trish pushes him, albeit playfully, off of the couch.

"You _really_ wanna know what I saw?" she asks, pulling him back up onto the couch by his arm. He nods, leaning forward towards her upon taking his seat again.

"Uh, _yeah._"

"You're not going to like it. You might not even believe it. Heck, I think I'm just going crazy."

"Well, I already knew _that_," he teases, his cocky smile returning. The second her eyes hit his with her signature glare, the smirk drops before it even has the chance to fully form.

"I…I think I saw…Well, the guy was limping. And I only saw him for a few seconds between all those people rushing by." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "He looked kinda sickly from what I could tell. I dunno. It creeped me out, but I didn't really get a good look–," she focuses her sight back up at him and finds his eyes enlarged, staring off beyond her.

"Z-zombie," he says softly, his voice sounding strained.

"Well, I don't know if that's what it was, Dez. But yeah, it kinda looked like it." Dez grabs hold of her upper arms. She could hear a strange, guttural sound coming from behind her – and the chills return, piercing their way up her spinal column.

"No, Trish." He forcibly turns her around to match her sight with where his own eyes had been. "_Zombie._" Her eyes had widened to mirror his, even prior to seeing the beast. The sounds it emitted had done plenty.

Zombies were supposed to look human, weren't they? _Too far gone_, Trish assumes. Sure, its body certainly replicated the look of a man, but the animalistic way it navigated forward, on all fours, made her question if it really ever was one. Its shoulder blades switch off, up and down, as the skeletal figure approaches them with puma-like movements. The thick, gurgling sound continues to spew through what was left of its mouth – jaw half-gone and its tongue flopped out to the side. The dark green-ish skin just barely coating the flesh-deprived body is translucent. The internal organs inside are visible, pulsating slowly within its bodily chambers. A being beyond one's most vivid nightmares. Those dark, hollow sockets where its eyes must have once been _– could it even see them?_

"_Holy shit!_" she screams out, unable to contain herself. Probably the worst possible thing to do with a creature whose hearing had probably been amped up through the lack of sight. It was bad enough that it probably already locked onto their scents. The creature stalks stealthily towards them, gaining speed as it maneuvers around the tables and chairs to reach the two.

_Weren't zombies supposed to be slow-moving?_

Dez's grip tightens on Trish's arms – frozen in a state of utter terror. Acting quickly, as it turns out Dez would not be able to do the same, she breaks his grasp on her and pulls him up off the couch. Her clasp on his arm fastens as she heads for the barricaded door. She releases her hold on her friend's arm and pushes the furniture out of the way as Dez stands idly – still paralyzed in horror.

"_You idiot!_ Help me out here!" she pleads, glancing back as the creature powers towards them. Its movement had slowed, as if assessing the situation. The anticipation made it all the worse.

"_DEZ!_" she cries out again, hoping to get through to him this time. He manages to snap out of his trance and grabs hold of the nearest blunt object he could find. A microphone stand. Trish snatches it out of his hands and directs him, "I'll take care of that…_Thing_. You pick the lock."

Dez gives her a slight nod, still finding it difficult to move. He reaches a trembling hand into his pocket, retrieving one of Trish's bobby pins that he had tucked away in there. His hands have trouble taking hold of the lock, his shaking only getting worse. Trish guards him from behind, hissing at the approaching creature. For the moment, it seems to back off. Dez fumbles with the pin, struggling to direct it into the keyhole of the lock – the creature's gurgling throwing him off all the more.

The skeletal figure draws closer to them, no longer intimidated by the curly-haired girl's snarls. She grinds her teeth, holding the mic stand out in front of her in a defensive position. "Hurry it up, Dez," she hisses at him between her teeth. Sucking in a deep breath, he pulls himself together and manages to get the pin in position.

Click.

At the sound of the lock's release, the ghoulish being launches itself at the girl with a raspy screech.

"_Trish!_" Dez shrieks, his voice heightening several octaves, turning around with his back against the door. He lets out a stream of air, relieved at the sight before him.

Trish had managed to position the mic stand just right, impaling the creature through its center. The rotting flesh must have been just tender enough.

However, being shish-kabobbed by the stand isn't enough to "kill" this undead being for good. It struggles to break free as Trish keeps her grip on the stand, lowering the creature to the ground, unable to hold it up for too long. It moves up further on the stand, sliding its corpse along the staff – closing in on the girl.

"Dez! _Do something!_ You're the zombie expert – how do we kill this thing?!" she demands, glancing back at her friend.

"Th-the b-b-brain. You g-g-got to decap-pitate it. O-or smash its head in," he stammers, his voice faltering. But that's just what he learned from movies, shows, and comic books. _Would it actually work?_

"Great. Now go find something to smash its head then, will ya? I can't hold it off that long." She pulls back to avoid the swing of its boney hands. The gurgling gets louder.

"You want m-_me_ to do it?" his eyelids gaping to their fullest, dilated pupils trying to take it all in. _This is happening. It's actually happening_, he urges himself to realize_._ Without even needing her to respond, he scopes the room for the best possible object.

"Dez, don't _make me_ ask again – or ugly here will be the _least_ of your problems," the fiery girl threatens, shoving the creature back down half the length of the stand with forceful kick.

Getting the feeling back in his feet, Dez moves swiftly towards the bar. He procures a few bottles off the shelves and rushes back over.

"Dez, I get that you're scared, but this _really_ isn't the time to be having a drink. I didn't even know you did," she comments, raising a brow at him – kicking the creature back again as it drew closer to her.

"I don't. I'm not even old enough, Trish," he rolls his eyes. "Besides, these are empty."

_Eye-rolling. Good. He's calming down_, Trish notices, hoping that it would last.

He picks up a bottle and aims carefully at the back of the creature's head. He pulls his arm back to swing, but freezes just before making any forward movement.

"Trish," he utters. "This is a person. _A human being._ What if they can be cured?" He drops his arm. "I can't just _kill_ someone."

"Dez, if I turn into a zombie cause you're too _chicken-shit_ to kill this one, you're gonna be the _first_ I go after – _you hear me?!_"

"But, _Trish…_" he starts.

Trish goes for another kick, however this time around, the creature had caught on. Its bony fingers latch onto her foot before impact. "_What the–?!_" she tries to pull away, but it clenches tighter, widening its partial-jaws over her ankle. "_DEZ!_" she pleads, her anger washed entirely away by sheer panic.

_SMASH._

Bottle one. The creature's turns its head around, now oozing darkened liquid from the skull. It lets out a violent screech at the redheaded boy.

_SMASH. _

Bottle two. With half its face now smash in, it releases its grip on Trish's leg. She backs up, still gripping onto the mic stand, just in case. The gurgling continues as it reaches a limb out towards the boy.

_SMASH. _

Bottle three. The beast goes limp. Dez moves in closer, poking at the creature's crushed skull with the remaining part of the bottle held in his hand. No movement. He tosses aside the broken bottle. Trish drops the stand, as well as a breath she did not realize she was holding in.

"Dez, I swear, if you _ever_ have second thoughts about saving my life again, I _will_ k–," she starts berating him, only to have the rest of her words muffled by his chest when he pulls her into his arms. She sighs, wrapping her own around his waist. Resting his head on hers, he sobs into his hair. She rubs his back, attempting to soothe him.

"_I'm sorry, Trish,_" he chokes out. "_I'm so sorry_."

"C'mon." She releases him, pushing him away. "We can't stay here." He nods, wiping his reddened eyes with his sleeve as he lumbers over to the main entrance. He pulls the lock off the chains, pocketing it for future use. Slipping the chains off of door handles, he turns to Trish.

"Go grab my backpack. It's next to the couch," he instructs her, sniffling as he tries to keep it together. "We should keep these chains, we could use them later." She does as told and retrieves the bag, taking the chains from him and stuffing them inside.

"I found some water bottles earlier, I'm gonna put them in, too." She collects them from the table she had set them down on earlier and packs them into the bag, on top of the chains.

"Any food?" he asks as he takes hold of one of the handles to the double-doored entrance.

"No. Couldn't find any. They must've cleared out the fridges. _Lucky us._"

"We should probably go find some, then. I'm _starving_."

"Open the door slowly. We need to check and see if the coast is clear," she advises as she zips up the bag. He nods silently, taking the bag from her with his free hand and swinging it over his shoulder. He pulls lightly and the door effortlessly cracks open, the blinding daylight piercing into the darkness of the club they had grown accustomed to. Squinting his eyes, Dez peers through, assessing their surroundings.

All is clear. All is quiet.

"Alright," he takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, still struggling to prevent himself from having a nervous breakdown. Uncertainty emanating from his voice, he asks, "…Let's go?"

"Let's."


	3. Confide

With weak steps, feet just barely planting themselves onto the ground, the lanky ginger stumbles in a rush towards the nearest waste bin. His shaking limbs attempt to lift the lid of the dumpster to no avail. He falls to his knees beside it, hands planted on the ground as he feels a mix of stomach acid, and possibly the remainder of the fries he had eaten the day before, rising up his esophagus. As the sour taste touches his mouth, he reflexively seals his lips for just a moment before letting the bile pour out.

The dark-haired girl rushes to his side, wincing at the sight, her nose wrinkling at the putrid smell. Hesitantly, she kneels beside him and begins rubbing his back. She isn't quite sure how it would help, but she recalls her parents doing so to her anytime she had the stomach flu. It had helped somehow.

_Parents. _Her face droops at the thought of them. She had tried to avoid any thoughts of her family and friends being in peril. Banishing the thoughts from her mind would be the only way she'd be able to survive…Whatever this is. She cannot let the thoughts cloud her mind. With a shake of her head, she urges her nauseous friend.

"Hurry it up, doof. We can't stay. The smell of your vomit might attract some attention." Upon seeing that he had finished releasing the contents of his stomach, she grips onto the back of his collar and pulls him up off the ground. She can hear the gurgling sounds already, aside from the sounds emanating from Dez's stomach. They're somewhat distant, however if the creatures move as fast as the one they had just witnessed earlier, distance would not be much of a comfort. The duo cannot afford to be detected.

"I-I can't…Tr-Trish, I. I ki-, _Trish…_" He stumbles over his words, shaking both body and voice. He leans down towards her and grips onto her shoulders for balance. "Tri-I k-kill. I. I _killed_ some-w-one," he tries to assert over the tears he's been choking back.

_Slap._

It had happened before she could even plan it. But what else could she do? He was losing his calm.

He raises a hand up to his reddened cheek and stares silently at her, his bright eyes wide with a cocktail of pain, shock, and slight terror. _The girl really knows how shut people up._

Trish exhales stiffly, immediate regret flooding her own eyes. She retracts her hand, putting it behind her back as if it would conceal the fact that it was _her _who had inflicted him.

"I'm sorry, Dez. But you can't be having a breakdown. _Not now._" She brings her hand back around to her front and holds it out to him – her weapon now her peace offering. He takes it without hesitance, nodding in silent agreement. She tightens her lips, taken aback by him forgiving her so promptly – trusting her wholeheartedly even after she had struck him. It eats away at a part of her.

"It's okay," he reassures. "You're right; I need to keep it together. You don't have to babysit me anymore, _I promise_." He smiles down at her innocently. Ephemeral the smile is, however, as the guttural groans grow louder still.

"They're close. _Let's get outta here,_" Trish whispers harshly, gripping onto his hand and pulling him along with her as she moves in the opposite direction of the growing clamor.

"Wait." Dez tugs at her hand abruptly, stopping them both. "You got any gum?"

"_What?_" Trish's demands quietly, her perplexed expression calling forth an explanation.

"_Gum._ Y'know, cause my breath smells like puke," he elaborates. She rolls her eyes up, mouthing the words 'help me' to no one in particular, before reaching into her pocket to procure what he asked for. _For the best, probably_, she decides, not wanting to have to deal with his bile-breath, either.

* * *

"Trish, I'm _tired_," the boy whines, seating himself down on a crate set against a brick wall in the alleyway. He leans his back against the wall, the straps of his backpack hanging off his exhausted shoulders. "We've been on the move for hours and we didn't even eat anything. When are we gonna stop and find food?"

"Dez, it's only been _one_ hour. I think. And I just wanted to make sure we lost those…_Things._ Now, shush." She holds up a hand in front of her to silence him, then tilts her head to the side as she listens. She raises her brows at the sound of heavy, rapid breathing nearby – sounding nothing like the monsters they were trying to escape – before realizing that the wheezing had been coming from her friend.

"Dez, are you okay?" She rushes over to his side, grabbing hold of his arms. He nods, looking down at his fidgeting hands.

"Just felt another…Panic attack coming on. I got it under control, don't worry." He buries his face in his hands, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Trish releases him, but continues to observe with great concern.

"I think we lost them. We can start looking for food now," she obliges to his earlier request. "But, it'll be tricky…We can't just bust into any store, the alarms will go off – calling in every creeper within a five-mile radius, probably." He nods, hands still over his face. She hears his breathing steady itself. She pulls his backpack off of his shoulders, slinging it over her own. "I'll carry the bag. You look like you're gonna faint."

"Thanks, Trish," he drops his hands from his face. His watery eyes look up to her, redness surrounding them. He smiles appreciatively.

"Dez, you don't have to feel bad about what you had to do earlier. I mean…Besides, if you didn't, that thing woulda killed me. And you don't want _that_ on your conscience, either," she warns him, shifting the backpack around until it felt, at least, semi-comfortable. The chains within the bag feel substantially irritable to the girl, through the thin fabric. She wonders why Dez hadn't complained sooner.

"I know." He pauses, running a hand through his sweaty locks. "You're right. But, I mean, it was a _person,_ Trish."

"You need to _stop_ thinking like that, Dez. Even if it _wasn't _a zombie or whatever – if they're trying to kill you, you need to defend yourself. And sometimes that means killing _them_ before they do _you_ in," she continues, gripping him by the shoulders, once again, and shaking him lightly back and forth. She has to get through to him, _somehow_. He looks on over her shoulders, unphased by the shaking. "Dez, _are you listening to me?_" the girl demands.

"I hear voices." He pulls her arms down, releasing the hold she had on his shoulders, then rises from the crate. Following the voices, he starts down the alleyway, leaving Trish behind.

"_Wait, you doof!_" she whisper-yells, chasing after him.

He ignores her command and pushes on, towards the end of the alleyway. The top of a slide appears – and he presumes that it must be a playground. A stack of boxes block the view partially at the end of the alley, but getting around them would likely not be too much of a hassle. He peers over one of the shorter stacks, tension releasing from his body.

_People. _

Non-zombified _people._

Two men, specifically. One, a meek-looking fellow, with a build similar to his own, wearing a bandana in what looked like the US flag print. The dirt and grime makes it hard to be certain. His clothing – as rugged as the bandana. The other, a heftier man in a dark blue, pinstripe suit – small, dark stains scattered on the lower part of the coat, as well as the trousers. What looked like a pair of handcuffs dangles from his belt, along with an assortment of other things Dez cannot quite make out due to the distance. In his hands, the large man wields an equally-as-grand axe. _Lucky them,_ Dez notes. _The best we could find was a plastic butter knife. _

Eager to run up and introduce himself, he starts climbing over one of the smaller stacks of boxes, until he finds himself pulled back by a small, yet forceful, hand. "Wha-?!" he begins to shout out, before another hand clamps over his mouth. Trish, he infers from the scent of mint and eucalyptus – the unmistakable smell of her hand sanitizer.

"Shhh!" she silences him, and continues to rebuke him in sharp, hushed tones. "_What do you think you're doing?_ Did you not listen to what I said _at all?_"

"But Trish, they're _people,_" he rebuts, mimicking her tone. Trish releases him, moving towards the boxes to take a look for herself, pushing herself up on her toes to get a proper look. She points off to the side of a building, closest to the two men. She turns her head to face Dez.

"_Look,_" she orders him, turning her facing forward. He moves over to her side, his eyes following the path of her finger. "You see those there? Lying against the wall behind the guys?" she asks, nudging him with her shoulder. Dez squints his eyes to get a better look. Long, sleek-looking artillery lay against the building, with small boxes stacked around them – what he could only assume is ammo.

"_Guns?_" he asks, turning to face her.

"_Yes,_ you doof. Assault rifles. I mean, the axe, I understand…But an _AK-47?_ And what looks like some sorta M16? Now look at them – do they _look_ like they're wearing uniforms of any kind?" Dez glances at the two men, then turns back to her, shaking his head.

"_Exactly._ Everyone else is gone. Yet here these two guys are – staying behind with military-grade weapons and no uniforms. _Now doesn't that seem suspicious to you?_" she asks in more of a commanding rather than questioning tone. Dez shrugs.

"Maybe they're just luckier than us and found better weapons. You can't just _assume_, Trish," he argues, moving her aside so that he could proceed. He looks over the boxes as he lifts his leg up to begin the small climb over them. Upon doing so, he spots a third person down on his knees in front of the other two.

"Dez, you better–" Trish stops herself, mid-sentence, upon hearing a blubbering voice – someone clearly in tears.

"Please…I told you where I hid the stuff…I didn't mean to steal it – I didn't know it was your stash, _please…_" The man on the ground seems desperate, and Dez grows wary. Trish debates internally with herself, whether or not she should watch the scene or just pull her friend away.

"What do you think Ray? Should we let him off the hook?" the larger man consults his smaller partner.

"What? And just let all of his buddies think they can get away with stealing from us. No, I don't think so, Sam." Ray shakes his head, cracking his knuckles as he stares down the man on his knees before them. Dez pulls his leg back, continuing to watch the scene over the boxes. Trish joins beside him, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Please, _please don't do this…_I'll give you _anything!_" the sobbing man begs, leaning forward and touching his forehead to the ground in front of him, in prostration.

"Oh, now you're just making it _too_ easy for us." Ray signals to the larger man with a nod. Sam hoists up the axe, aims, and before the groveling man could look up again, gravity does the dirty work.

Dez falls backward onto the ground behind him, just before the axe hits its target. He winces upon hearing the sound of the impact, hoping that it would drown out the sound of his fall. Trish continues to stare at the scene. Even with all of the distrust she had built up from assessing the situation earlier, she would not have been able to predict _this._ She pries her eyes away from the gushing mess, staggering backwards and nearly tripping over Dez's form, now in fetal position on the ground.

With a huff, she pulls the boy to his feet, hoisting him up from the underarms. She tugs at his sleeve, jerking her head towards another path off their current alleyway. She proceeds towards it. Dez follows – wordlessly, without resistance.

* * *

"Dez, _talk to me,_" Trish implores the boy, who had remained silent for the past half hour or so as they navigated their way through the alleys, in search of some means of sustenance. So unusual it is for him to stay as mute as he had been. After what they had just witnessed, she had expected another breakdown – but nothing. It is no secret to her that he had been doing everything in his power to suppress his emotions. _Which is good, right?_, she second-guesses herself. _What am I so worried about?_

After what seemed like an eternity, he speaks up, looking onward. "Trish…You see what I'm seeing?" She follows his line of sight, spotting the open door to what looked like the back of a restaurant.

"It's already open. Which means…No alarms, _right?_" he asks, turning to her – looking feeble and desperate, licking away at his chapped lips. She could hear his stomach growl, somehow causing hers to do the same. Before he could even manage to take a step towards the door, she blocks him with her hand.

"Not yet. There could be creepers in there. We can't just barge in – we need to _prepare._" She scopes the premises for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon. She eyes a rusty pipe lined along the side of an ancient-esque building. Dropping the backpack, she heads on over. She crouches down, wraps her digits around the base and begins to pull. "Get over here, Dez!" she calls out. He rushes over and crouches behind her, positioning his hands just under hers on the pipe and his right foot on the wall, in order to gain more leverage. He pulls along with her, with whatever little strength he has left.

Eventually exhausted by the strain, Trish releases the pipe, her palms reddened and irritated as a result. She lays her head back onto her friend's chest. Dez continues pulling. The stubborn pipe remains, slightly loosened, perhaps, but overall – unmoved.

"Dez, leave it. It's not going to budge." The girl slinks her way out under his arms as he resumes, just as stubborn as the pipe. She notices the way his face had yellowed from weakness, and takes hold of his hands which continue to adamantly cling on to the piece of metal. She pries his hands away, digging her nails into them in order to get them to release.

"Yow!" he yelps out, rubbing the back of his hands. "Did you _have_ to use your nails?" Ignoring his cries of pain, she proceeds, hesitantly, towards a low window. With a deep breath, she positions her elbow up against the glass in the pane. She pulls it back as she steadies her breathing and closes her eyes.

"Trish, _what're you–?_" Before Dez can finish, the girl smashes her elbow through the pane, shattering the glass. She winces. _Not as easy as they make it seem in the movies._

"_Trish!_" the boy rushes to her aid. "_Why would you do that?!_ You're bleeding, _look!_" He takes her bare arm and plucks out the few pieces of glass that had been slightly lodged beneath her skin. Acting quickly, he uses one of the larger pieces of glass to help him tear some of the fabric off the bottom of his shirt. Wrapping the piece of cloth around her wound, he continues reprimanding her. "Trish_, are you thinking straight?_ Why would you do this to yourself? And you coulda set off some alarms, too!"

The girl pulls her arm away abruptly after Dez had just finished tying up the cloth-wrap around it. She bends down, picking up the two largest glass shards she could find.

"Now we got some semi-decent weapons," she states, handing off one the shards to him. "_You're welcome._"

"Wh–"

"–Remember, Dez. You see a creeper, you aim for the head. Kick it away to throw it off, then just–"

"–_Please_ don't pull anymore stunts like that. We don't have any proper bandages or ointments or anything. What if your cuts get _infected?_ I mean, I guess we can use your hand sanitizer…But what if tiny pieces of glass have already–?"

"–I'm _fine, _Dez. Now let's go get some food in you before you start hallucinating from hunger. Remember that one time? The whole thing with the goose?"

"_Don't remind me._" He sighs. "Alright, then. Ladies first." He gestures for her to start. She rolls her eyes.

"What a _gentleman,_" she snarks, coldly. She peeks in through the slightly-ajar door, leaning and listening in to check for any strange noises. Comforted by the silence, she kicks the door wide open and slips into the darkness. Dez scoops up his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as he follows her in, much more cautiously than she.

"It's hard to see in here," he complains, scanning his eyes across the room.

"Your eyes will adjust. Pretty sure this is the kitchen. There's gotta be food around here somewhere…Check the top shelves and cupboards, I got the bottom cabinets." She proceeds excavating, gripping the glass shard in her hand, mildly slicing through the skin of her palm. It doesn't take long before Dez makes a find.

"I've got croutons and soup crackers here…Oh! And some…Jam?" He drops his backpack onto the ground, setting his glass shard down on the counter. He stuffs the two boxes and the jam jar into his bag, worrying about how crammed it's getting. "Hey, you think we can use these chains we got at the club as some sorta weapon? 'Cause I'm not sure what we could use them for."

"_Maybe…_You'll need to know how to wield them properly, though," Trish inputs, looking through the lower cabinets. "Let's see…Maraschino cherries…Peanuts…And here's some…" she frowns. "Pickles." _Ally._ Scenarios of her best friend in danger flash through her mind like a horror movie trailer. She shifts around uncomfortably on her knees.

"You okay, Trish?" Dez leans back, to get a better look at her.

"Yeah, I'll be – DEZ! _LOOK OUT!_" she shrieks in alarm as she sees the skeletal figure looming over the boy. Dez turns around and leans backwards, sliding his back against the lower cabinets and falling to the ground. The creature closes in, barely making a sound the whole time, its boney jaws opening and closing as it nears him. Dez reaches his hand up to grab his shard off the counter, only to retract it as the monster snaps at him, just barely missing his arm. Trish jumps on top of one of the counters in front of her and attempts to steer away its attention.

"_Hey, ugly!_" She waves her arms, beckoning the creature towards her. Now distracted, it turns its mug to face her – giving Dez just enough opportunity. He swipes his shard off the counter, hopping back up onto his feet. In one quick movement, he hammers the glass piece down onto the stalker's head. The creature struggles, jaws wide open as if screeching, but not the slightest noise escapes. Dez pushes the glass in deeper, piercing through the tender skull – gritting his teeth and trying his best not to look away. Trish jumps from counter to counter, rushing over to assist him.

The creature does not seem to want to give in and starts grabbing at him, just barely missing as Dez maneuvers his body away with each swipe. His hand remains in place, still gripping onto the remaining portion of the glass still sticking out. Trish joins him finally, taking her own piece and plunging it into the other side of the being's head. After a few more moments of struggling, clawing at them both, the stalker finally goes limp. The duo emit a simultaneous sigh of relief, pulling out their gooey shards and letting the corpse collapse onto the kitchen floor. Dez, shaking beyond control, collapses onto his knees beside it, releasing the shard from his hand.

Trish shakes her head, her mind flooding with doubt. _How am I supposed to watch this ginger twenty-four-seven?_ She kneels beside him, setting her own piece of glass down next to his, and engulfs him in an embrace. He nestles his head into the space between her neck and shoulder, trying to steady his breathing. She rubs his back, hoping to God that he would not have another fit. It's likely that they'll have to deal with much worse along the way, she presumes. How can she possibly manage to always be there to save him or calm him down?

He pulls away from her, rubbing his eyes. "That one w-was quiet," he stammers, setting his hands down in his lap. She can tell he's doing everything he can to remain stable. "Th-there are _quiet_ w-ones, Trish. We won't be able to hear the-em c-c-c-coming."

"Then we need to stay on full alert until we can find some sort of safehouse." She pushes herself back onto her feet, holding out a hand for him. He takes it, and she pulls him up off the floor. "Let's stuff as much as we can into your bag and get out of here."

"And maybe find another bag. We could use all the food we can carry." He procures a few more small boxes of assorted dry foods off of the counter and crams them into his bag.

"Dez…You know I can't always be there to protect you, _right?_ It's not that I won't _try_. Or that I don't _want_ to…It's just…" Trish trails off, looking down at her cut-up hands in shame.

"–I know. It's okay, Trish. Like I said, you don't have to babysit me." He gives her a weak smile, which she reciprocates with uncertainty.


	4. Fine

Dez knew that those few years of cheer practice would someday come in handy.

At least for dodging purposes, anyway.

"The head, Dez, aim for the head!" The girl coaxes him. "What are you doing? _Strike already!_" She aggressively gestures a hammer-strike in the air with her fist, the situation making her tense up. "You're tall enough, just bring that hatchet-knife thingy down on top of its head."

The creature emits some low growls, seeming what could best be described as exhausted after each attempt to get the boy within its clutches. Every time, without fail, as Dez would approach, intending to strike the small beast with the meat cleaver, his cowardice would take over, pulling him back. He proves to be an expert dodger, however – the corpse missing him with every ventured lunge and swing of the arms.

"This isn't getting anywhere…" Trish groans, massaging her temples with her fingers.

"I'm _trying_. It just keeps on swinging at me!" He moves further away from the beast, which Trish had chained up by the ankle to the base of a cypress. "Why are we doing this, anyway?" The corpse continues grasping at air, straining to reach for the freckled boy – held back by the chains pulled to their maximum length.

"I told you. _Training. _You could really use it." Trish crosses her arms. "And once you've killed this one, I'll find you another. And you'll fight it, without out chains this time."

"Are you _trying_ to get me killed? I thought we were friends." He pouts, collapsing onto his knees, tossing the cleaver aside. "I'm tired. Can we stop?" He scratches his jawline, the light, barely-visible stubble dotted along it had started making him itch.

"Dez, I'm only trying to help you. _I can't always watch over you._ How many times do I have to tell you that before I get through to you?" She kneels down beside him. "It's been way too long, and we haven't gotten _anywhere_ 'cause you're too much of a _pansy_ to get out there and slice into those zombies' skulls."

"You say that like it's such an _easy_ thing to do," he grumbles.

Taking a proper seat on the ground, she pulls her knees in towards her body and rests her chin on them. "We need to fight. We can't just outrun them all the time. They keep chasing us in circles, and we always end up back in the same places. I can't fight the hordes alone, either, Dez. _You need to help me out here. _I can't fight for the _both_ of us."

The two had been consistently making attempts to escape the city throughout the duration of the past two weeks – since the beginning of this entire crisis. Trapped. At almost every corner, a large horde waits on any signs of life to emerge from the alleyways. All of the main roads – infested with the walking corpses. And the parts they weren't covering? Guarded by mercenaries like the two they had seen weeks ago. They managed to find a few temporary safehouses, though any available sources of food and water had been scarce – and seeing as all local markets and convenience stores were armed with blaring sirens, they couldn't take the risk of breaking into those. The time to move on had to be _now._

"Maybe you don't have to fight for the both of us. Maybe you should just…" he bites down on his lip, stopping himself.

"Maybe I should _what, _Dez?" She scrunches her brows together, releasing her knees from her hold on them, and crawls towards him. As she closes in on him, she grabs the back of his head and pulls it to hers. With her forehead pushing against his, her glare hardens. "_If you think for one second that I'm just going to leave you behind…_" His eyes, full of something she had rarely ever seen on the boy, causes her voice to falter. _Despair._ Her face and tone softens, abruptly drained of the searing rage that had manifested from her own fears. "Dez, you're my friend. I'm not leaving you behind."

"Look, Trish, that's noble and all – _and I appreciate it_ – but it's also pretty stupid. I _know_ what happens to people like me in the movies and stuff. I'm just…_Deadweight._" He pulls back, away from her.

"_Did you just call me stup–?_"

"–You could probably make it out of here on your own. You don't need me. I'd just mess things up, like I always do." He clasps his hands together. "_Every single _attempt we made to get out of this city screwed up because of_ me._ Because _I_ was too afraid to fight. Because _I _set off car alarms. Because _I_ shot that flare at the wrong time…"

"The last two were just _accidents._ Shit happens," she comforts him, softly, restraining herself from reacting to his calling her "stupid".

"My _life_ is an accident waiting to happen. I'll screw up. Every time – without fail. I don't want to drag you down with me," he contends, pulling his clenched fists up to his chest, begging her with his glazed-over eyes to try and understand his case.

"You've killed 'em before, Dez. You can do it again_. You got this._" As much as her unfaltering belief in him warms up the chill of apprehension within him, he resolutely continues to refuse.

"That was just…Adrenaline or something. You can't just depend on me to fight last-minute all the time – it may or may not kick in, and if it doesn't – one or both of us is going to _die._" He isn't sure how long he will be able to keep up his argument. The girl's persistent – a quality he often admired in her, as she almost _always_ manages to resolve issues that way. Of course, when used against _him_ it became more of a nuisance, but no less admirable.

"_Fine._" She stands up, authoritatively towering above him from his sitting position, and crosses her arms. "Then I'm staying here with you."

"_Also_ stupid." Dez asserts, giving her his best condescending smirk. His grins never seemed to last all that long recently. Even scarcer than food was the opportunity to just enjoy a moment and smile. This time is no different. The smirk drops, as does his jaw – his eyes complying with his terror, as well.

_How did it get free from the chains?_

"Dez, I swear, if you call me stupid _one more time,_ I'm gonna–" Trish starts, groaning as Dez shoves her aside. Landing with a painful skid, she curses, quickly inspecting her scraped up arm. "Dez! _What the hell?!_" She turns to see her friend pinning down her assailant, the very zombie she thought she had secured to the cypress. "_Dez!_" she screams out as she rushes towards him, her anger diluting into worry, as it seemed to be doing a lot of recently.

"Hand me the cleaver!" he directs her, struggling with all four of his limbs to hold the creature down.

"The _what?_"

"You know, the meat cleav-." He stops. _How did she so eloquently put it before? Ah, yes._ "The _hatchet-knife thingy._ Bring it here." She obliges, rushing it over to him.

"You want me to–?" As she offers, Dez wastes no time and releases one of the creature's struggling limbs and snatches the cutlery by the base, out of Trish's grasp. The small beast swings at his head with its free hand, just barely landing its broken nails upon his cheek, if it weren't for Trish's rapid reflexes. She catches the decaying extremity just in time, giving Dez the opportunity to go in for the kill.

Wielding the knife, he raises his arm up into the air and takes aim at the wriggling monster's head.

_Please, please don't do this…I'll give you anything!_, the cries of the victim, who had fallen prey to the two mercenaries they had encountered on their first day, echo through his mind. He brings down his arm, slowly, holding it just above the zombie's head. Images of the man pleading on his knees flash through, as well. The memory of the axe falling. He looks at the cleaver in his hand, his mind deceiving his eyes. With vivid images of the axe and the trembling victim fresh in the forefront of his brain, his hand trembles.

"_Dez?_" Trish asks him, witnessing the change of expression on his face, close-up. Her voice – as powerful and threatening as it can be sometimes – also somehow manages to achieve a soothing, almost motherly, tempo. It proves enough to help bring him back. She struggles to keep the beast pinned down, putting in some extra effort as Dez's episode had him lightening up on the pressure he had been exerting on the creature.

His grip tightens on the base of the cleaver. He brings it up with great momentum, and down with vehemence. Trish closes her eyes and turns her head away to avoid the blood splatter, something Dez doesn't bother doing. Shifting the knife side to side as he plunges it deeper into the rotting skull, he waits until the impish being completely stops all movement before moving himself off the body. Trish releases the creature right after and moves beside Dez, wrapping her arms around his waist without hesitance.

Exhausted, both physically and mentally, he sinks into the hug, resting his head atop hers. He exhales heavily, calming his nerves.

"See, you doof? _I knew you could do it,_" she says with her face pressed up against his neck. He pulls away abruptly, laughing out a bit.

"_Stop,_ I'm ticklish," he says as his giggling ensues. Rolling her eyes, Trish procures a couple napkins from the small front pocket of her backpack and hands them over to him.

"You got a little blood on your face."

His smile fades as he takes them from her. The brief moment of happiness over – replaced again by the dread this reality has created within him. "Thanks."

* * *

"Here, take my hand," the blonde offers, extending his hand out to his girlfriend.

"You sure you can drive this thing, Austin?" the brunette asks, looking up and down the eighteen-wheeled semi with uncertainty.

"I'm gonna have to. It's the only vehicle we've come across that has a key – and actually starts up. And I don't know anything about hotwiring." He shrugs, his hand still waiting for hers. "My arm's getting tired, Ally." She lets out a breath, and takes his hand reluctantly. He pulls her into the passenger seat of the large vehicle and takes a seat on the driver's side. Ally checks the rearview mirror on her side, shuddering at the sight of the large horde – quite a distance away, but still foreboding, all the same.

"Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear," Austin teases her, nudging her with his elbow. She gives him a bitter look, crossing her arms as she makes herself comfortable in her seat.

"You…You think they're okay?" Ally asks him, thickness rising in her voice. She had kept it all in so far, refusing to let the situation break her. She's no Trish, though. Her eyes start to glaze over.

_Trish…_, Ally recalls their last conversation – or rather, argument. Trish had been upset about Ally not making enough time for her. Sure, her career and making time for Austin had taken up most of her schedule, but she now realizes that Trish may have had a point. A point Ally couldn't really understand until now. She wishes with all she has that she could take those words back. Take back the fact that her last words to Trish were ones of anger.

"I'm sure they even made it home by now. Dez is the greatest zombie-expert I know, and Trish is…Well, she's _Trish._ I'm _positive_ they're doing just fine," he reassures her. If he's honest, he isn't all that sure of his own words of comfort. Saying them aloud seemed to help him relieve himself of some stress, at least. Austin, too, had been having some difficulties with his own best friend. It wasn't an argument or anything of the like, rather, Dez had been having a hard time as of late. Looking back on it, Austin wonders if he had comforted his friend as much as he feels he should have. _He needed me._ _I should have been there for him more_, he mentally reprimands himself.

The guilt creeping up on the two would likely eat them alive before the zombies could get to them. They cannot afford to dwell.

Austin leans forward and starts up the truck. He straps on his seat belt and checks the mirrors – of course, not without checking himself out, as well. Greasy hair, light bits of stubble, patches of dirt here and there. "Heh. Even after a couple weeks without a shower, I still got it." He smiles smugly at his girlfriend.

"_Drive,_ Austin," Ally orders him, impatiently. The horde had gotten closer, though still only dots in the distance – the dots had become slightly, yet noticeably, larger. Austin nods at her seriously, not wanting to protest when she's in her no-nonsense mode. He puts the truck into drive and gently pushes his foot down on the accelerator. Ally grips the seat of her chair as the truck starts to move.

"It's going to be okay, Ally…_Everything will be just fine._" He leans towards her and plants a light kiss on her cheek before proceeding down the highway.

* * *

"_You knew how to hotwire a car this whole time?!_"

"I didn't wanna _steal a car,_ Trish," the redhead defends himself as he fiddles with the wiring of the ignition. "But, I guess we kinda need to now."

"Oh, but breaking into buildings and stealing food and kitchen utensils was _okay?_"

"That's different. Besides, I don't really _know_ how to do this. I'm mostly guessing here."

Another escape attempt gone awry – and they managed to land themselves in quite the situation. After clearing most of the path towards a highway – Dez finally pulling himself together just enough to assist Trish in the zombie slaughter – they end up biting off more than they could chew. The horde seemed to continuously increase in number, as if they had signaled to other creepers across the city to come assist them. Running and hiding eventually became the best option. Though a small car is probably not the best place to hide.

The horde mobs around the small vehicle, tilting it back and forth as the duo inside become all the more frantic.

"_Hurry it up,_ you doof! They're gonna break through the glass soon!" she urges, her voice carrying more fear than anger. She takes hold of his forearm in her panic, looking around herself at the sickly, cadaverous faces pressed up against the windows.

"Trish! _Let go!_" he hisses between his teeth, trying to pull free so that he could continue his work. She pulls away immediately, daunted by his sudden aggression. The hum of the engine relaxes him. "_There. _Now let's get out of…" he turns to face Trish, his pride from accomplishing the task disappearing as soon as it had manifested. She faces forward, staring stiffly at the decaying hands clawing at the windshield, her lips tight. "Trish?" he bites his lip, looking down at her lightly shaking hands. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't–"

"–_Drive,_" she commands him.

"But–"

"–I said _drive_," she repeats shakily, fastening her seat belt. Dez nods, complying. He puts the car into drive and pushes down hard on the accelerator. A few of the bodies are pushed off, yet others remain, clinging on. He holds his foot down on the accelerator, the massive horde preventing them from getting anywhere. He then breaks abruptly, sending a few zombies falling back off of the hood. Seeing an opportunity, he floors the accelerator once again and manages to run over the fallen, pushing others aside. Once they had pushed past the hoard, it was a straight, clear shot towards the highway. He turns the windshield wipers on, smearing the blood across, and eventually clearing it up just enough to see properly. He then floors it again, seeing as traffic isn't an issue, eager to leave the city.

"We've only got enough gas for about fifty miles, maybe less." He jerks his head up, gesturing to the dashboard. "But at least we'll actually _get_ somewhere now." Trish remains silent, looking onward towards the approaching highway. Dez glances at her, frowning, but says nothing.

Just another addition to his ever-growing pile of guilt. He blames himself for Trish being stuck in the city so long. He blames himself for not being able to have her back all the time. Heck, he even feels at fault for each dead-eyed creeper he had been forced to kill.

_And then there's Austin…_

The two boys had barely spoken to each other the past few months. Austin isn't the one to blame. Fearful that his own state of dejection would bring his best friend down, Dez kept to himself. Even resorted to _avoiding_ Austin. _Little Golden Toes_ didn't deserve that. Dez cannot even _recall_ the last conversation he had with his best friend, and that – that _'not remembering'_ – hits him the hardest.

Trish would always resort to anger. However, anger is a _secondary_ emotion. _Hurt._ _Fear._ _Guilt. _These are what she truly carries, masked with the façade of rage. She unzips her backpack, rummaging through it for a quick snack. It had been too long since she last had something to eat. Feeling around, she pulls out a jar. She frowns, putting it back as the sight of pickles made her lose her appetite.

_Not that she had a problem with pickles._

Ally and her had fought. About what? It didn't matter. The fact that their last words to each other were so _cold…_Okay, so they weren't _that_ cold. The two never got into any serious fights, and their anger would never overpower their love for one another. It was a small argument, and all Trish wanted was to spend more time with her. She admits now that it was selfish to expect so much of her friend. How could she put that kind of pressure on Ally when she _already_ had so much on her plate? It wasn't fair to her. Best friends don't do that to each other. Ally wouldn't have done that to _her._

Trish sinks back into her seat, trying to calm her tremulous breathing. She cannot break down. Dez is driving. If she does, he _definitely_ would. She has to keep her walls upright and sturdy. For _his_ sake, at least.

"It's gonna be okay, Trish," he finally speaks up after a prolonged silence between them. She turns her head to face him, upset that he had noticed her dismay. With his left hand still firm on the wheel, he reaches for hers with his right. He gives her trembling hand a light squeeze to soothe her. "_Everything'll be just fine._"


	5. Smile

A bump in the road provides an abrupt and harsh awakening.

_When did I fall asleep?_, the girl wonders, rubbing her eyes and blinking a few times as her eyes adjust to the morning light. She yawns, stretching her arms and legs out in front of her. _Thank goodness for short legs_, she smirks as she's able to stretch them out to their full length. Her seat being adjusted back slightly _did_ help, however.

"Good morning." She turns as she hears the boy's soft greeting. Her smile diminishes upon laying her eyes on him. The shaky limbs and dark circles around his eyes tell a tale. He must have stayed up the whole night, driving. She cannot help but feel guilty.

"Dez…Do you want to pull over and get some rest?" she inquires, softly. Driving while drowsy is just about as dangerous as driving while drunk, after all.

"Oh, I'm fine," he smiles, glancing at her.

"_Dez…_"

"I'm _fine,_ Trish," he insists, his smile vanishing. _Why is he being so stubborn?_, she wonders. Silence befalls them as they continue down the interestingly empty road. _Where are all the people?_ There were a few cars parked off-road here and there, but nobody seemed to be occupying any of them. A thought hits her.

"Have you been driving all night? Miami's only three hours from Orlando. What's taking so long?"

"Detour. The road was blocked. Was able to find another route off-road, but it took me backwards. Got a little lost. I'm back on track now...I think."

"Oh. But what about the gas? You've definitely driven more than fifty miles."

"There were some gas cans in the trunk."

"Lucky us."

"We're running low again, though. We'll have to find more soon." She nods, having no more questions. Silence falls between them as they watch at the road ahead. Dez, focused on getting home, and Trish trying not to distract him. His drowsiness would do enough.

Trish finally breaks the silence by letting out a small laugh as they pass by a particular billboard.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, I just saw an ad for that new Zaliens movie that was supposed to come out in a couple months. It was on that last billboard we passed," she explains. Just as soon as she finishes, Dez steps on the breaks and they screech to a stop. Trish groans, her seatbelt pressing hard onto her chest as he did so.

"_Really?!_ How'd I miss that?!" the boy enthuses, putting the gear into reverse. He twists himself around to see behind him, while keeping one hand on the wheel, and begins back-tracking towards the billboard. Trish laughs out slightly louder, relieved to see him donning that look of pure enthusiasm again. It was all too rare these days; she had missed seeing it.

Dez stops the car, putting it into park. He bursts out the door like a child rushing towards an amusement park. The most basic thing brings him such joy – she wonders if they had both really gotten to that point. Appreciating the small things in life wasn't something she did often – she always wanted _more;_ she always wanted _better_. And now, even finding cold water to drink would be the highlight of her day. She exhales her worries away and hops out of the car soon after him, making sure to take her cleaver with her.

Dez stares up at the billboard, hands on hips as he examines it with a smile. "I remember hearing that they constructed entire cityscapes in this just using CG. _Can you believe that?_"

"_Are you serious?_ It looked so real in the trailers!" Trish states with disbelief as she walks up beside him. She looks up at the billboard. "I was really looking forward to this one. They were going to bring back one of my favorite characters from the third movie. I really wanted to watch it, but I guess…" Dez turns his head to face her, his gleeful aura suddenly losing its glow.

"I guess now…We'll never get to see it," he murmurs, suddenly pulled back out into reality. He looks back up at the ad for a few more moments before turning away and walking back towards the car. Trish bites her lip, wishing she could've just kept that last comment to herself.

"Dez!" she calls after him as she runs to keep up. She had snuffed out his one, small, but shining, moment of joy. _Why couldn't I just shut my mouth and let him have this?_, she berates herself. So wrapped up in her thoughts as she runs towards him, she fails to keep a good enough eye on the ground before her. A small baseball-sized ditch in the ground is all it takes to stop her in her tracks. She closes her eyes as she falls forward, bracing for the impact of her face against the hard asphalt. After a few moments of waiting, she wonders if her face had immediately gone numb from the face-plant. Warmth wrapping around her shoulders tell her otherwise. She opens her eyes to see the ground far enough from her face, and her friend's chest close. She looks up at him. "Nice catch." Dez smiles.

"You should probably watch where you're going," he teases, helping her up properly onto her feet. She rolls her eyes and taps him on the arm with her fist.

"I got distracted, _okay?_" she admits.

"I didn't know my butt was _that_ distracting," he taunts her, earning him a shove from the short girl.

"Shut up, _you doof!_" She rushes passed him as she feels the heat rising to her face_. _She might've been subconsciously staring, not that she'd ever want to admit that to _him._

She hops back into the passenger seat and buckles up, hoping her blush would subside before he caught up to her. She manages to pull herself together just as he joins her.

"You sure you don't want to take a quick nap or something, Dez? You look exhausted." She reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder.

"The sooner we get home to Miami, the better. We can't afford to waste any time. Besides, there's no other cars driving on the road. If I start feeling really drowsy, we'll still probably be fine. If I'm ready to collapse, I'll let you know," he reassures her. She opens her mouth to speak, but stops herself before arguing with him. Drowsy Dez wasn't safe. Drowsy _and_ angry Dez would probably be a lot worse.

"Alright…But if I feel like we're in any danger, I'm going to have to stop you," she warns him. He buckles up and puts the car back into drive.

"Alright." He starts down the road again, smirking as he glances over at her. "So, _about my butt…_"

"_Shut up!_"

* * *

"Shit." Dez slows the car down to a halt upon getting a good look at what lay ahead.

"What? _What is that?_" Trish looks up from the book she had been so engulfed in. "Is that…" her jaw drops as she leans back in her chair. Her books falls out of her hand.

"A…A herd." Dez nods, eyes trained on the moving mass a mile or so down the road. It was probably the largest herd they encountered thus far.

"What are we going to do now? We can't drive around that, there's creeks on both sides of the road – if we try to go down those, the car will get stuck!" Trish pulls her legs in towards her body.

"I guess we're going to have to…"

"_What?_"

"Drive through it," Dez affirms, his tone solemn. Trish turns to him.

"_Are you crazy?!_" she asks, incredulously.

"We just did that back in the city, and made it out without damage. We can do it again."

"That herd was so much smaller and, unlike _you,_ not that _dense,_" she mocks him. He glares at her.

"Then what do _you_ suggest, Trish? We _fly_ over it somehow?" he shoots back, his temper flaring up quickly.

_Oh, gosh, not now. We can't argue now_, _we need to keep it together,_ Trish realizes, stopping herself from pushing the debate any further. "Okay," she gives in. "We'll drive through. Just…Be careful." Dez's face softens at her sudden capitulation.

"You alright, Trish?" he asks her with concern. It isn't like her to back down just like that.

"I'm fine. Let's just…" She breathes heavily. "…Get this over with." He nods, pulling his foot off the break. As they close in on the herd, Trish sinks down in her seat, unbuckling herself as she tries to hide in the space under the glove compartment. The zombies have clearly spotted them by now. Once within five hundred feet of the herd, Dez pushes his foot all the way down on the accelerator;the car's speed shoots up quickly. He squints his eyes as he braces for initial impact.

_CRACK._

He hears the snapping sounds of breaking bones.A few bodies roll up against the windshield. Trish, hiding away under the glove compartment, squeezes her eyes shut and covers her ears. The groans and scratchy cries of the monstrosities can still be heard.

Dez keeps his foot down on the accelerator, noting how much the car had slowed. The creatures press onto the windows all around them and the car is engulfed by the decaying bodies. They scratch, they claw at, and they press their rotting faces against the glass. A few even thrash their frail bodies against the sides of the car, their efforts in vain. It's a sluggish, aggravating, and tense process, but they muddle through. Slowly, but surely, Dez pushes onward, eventually seeing the tail-end of the herd. A few cracks in the windows from all of those creepers ramming against the car begins to worry him, seeing as the herd keeps the larger brutes in the back. Three of them gang up, starting towards the small vehicle.

_SMASH._

The two friends let out a scream, watching as the cracks in the windows get larger. Dez lifts his foot from the accelerator in his state of fright.

"_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,_" Dez chants, his hands shaking as they grip the wheel. Trish hops back up onto her seat and grabs his shoulder.

"Keep it together. _Keep driving._"

"Trish, _they're almost through,_" he whimpers, his voice thick and his reddened, sleep-deprived eyes glazing over.

"Dez, it'll be o–" She had spoken too soon.

_CRASH._

The shards of glass go flying, and the duo turn away to protect their faces. Dez feels an immense grip tightening around his arm, and before he can turn around to see what was grasping it, he's pulled, his body smashing against the door and his head forced outside the broken window.

"_DEZ!_" the girl shrieks out, jumping over onto the driver's seat – partially seated on his lap in a strange position. She puts an arm around his torso to hold him, and puts her free hand on the wheel as she slams onto the accelerator. The brutes are pushed aside at the sudden burst, yet the one that had latched onto Dez's arm refuses to let go. Dez wails out in pain from the pressure at the base of his arm. Trish keeps her foot down on the pedal. Dez struggles to get free. The combination of force manages to help him pull free, but at a cost.

"_AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!_" the boy screams out in pain as he feels his tendons tearing. The brute releases him, and they begin to speed down the freeway – finally clearing the herd. "_Ahahahowwwww_," the boy sobs as he retracts his arm in through the window.

"Did it bite you?" Trish immediately questions him, keeping her eyes on the road, checking all of her mirrors frantically. She sees Dez shake his head 'no' in her peripheral vision. "_Good._"

"I-I think…M-my arm got disl-located," he says thickly through his tears, holding his injured limb with the other arm. Trish frowns, but doesn't turn to him.

"Since wh-when do _you_ drive?" he asks her, wiping his eyes with the wrist of his good arm.

"_I don't._ I-I've only ever driven once with my mom when she was trying to teach me. That didn't end very well," she replies, nervousness emanating from her voice.

"Oh." Dez goes quiet, looking down at his feet. "Well, you're doing good. Just keep going like this." He shifts around a bit, moving her off of him, letting her sit between his thighs. This wasn't any less awkward, he had to admit. But it was less uncomfortable for the both of them than her balancing on his one thigh.

"Dez, I-I can't…I need to stop," she responds, shakily.

"_You have to keep going,_ my arm's broken or something."

"Can't you drive with one?"

"Maybe, but I'm…I'm in a lotta pain, and I…I'm pretty sure I'm about to…To…" he lays his head back against the seat and dozes off, his lack of sleep finally catching up to him.

"Dez?" she asks.

Silence.

"_Dez?!_" she asks again with worry from not receiving a response.

"Y…_Yeah?_" he mutters, keeping his eyes closed. "I'm so tired, Trish. Just keep going. I can't even keep my eyes open."

"_I can't do this._"

"_Yes you can. _I _know_…Ah know you caaahn," he starts to yawn. Trish bites her lip and keeps focused on the road. After a few minutes pass buy, she decides to pull over. She moves to the side of the road and hits the break. The sudden stop wakes Dez. "Huh?! Where are we?!"

"Dez, how do I park?" she asks him. He reaches over and groggily shifts the gear to 'P'. "Oh. _Right._" She looks down and releases the break. She tactfully climbs back over to the passenger seat, careful not to put his arm in any more pain by nudging it.

Dez frowns, immediately missing the feeling of her back pressed up against him. "So…We should patch up this window with something."

"We need to patch up your arm _first,_ doofus," she rolls her eyes and reaches for the medical kit amongst their stash of supplies in the back seat. She assists in disrobing him, delicately pulling off his shirt. She examines the arm, seeing the bruises run down the length of it. Thankfully, no bites. "Yeesh. Okay, not much I can do about these bruises, but…" She puts a hand on the base of his arm, near his shoulder.

"What're you–?" Dez starts as Trish gives his arm a heavy push, forcing his arm back into place. He howls, more tears escaping his eyes. "_Did you have to do it that hard?_"

"_Yes._ Quit your whining." She smiles as she retrieves a sling from the kit. She helps him put his shirt back on, then the sling. "There. That should take some pressure off of it while it heals."

"Thanks, Trish," he smiles warmly at her. _Here comes that heat rising into her face again._ She looks down at her lap.

"So, uh…We still need to patch up this window…" He notices the blush this time, but doesn't comment on it. She looks back up at him.

"Don't be stupid. If we patch it up, how will you see through it – or watch the rearview mirror on this side? There's a large van up ahead. Looks pretty sturdy, too. We'll hotwire it and get going."

"Well, alright. But I'm way too sleepy and in too much pain right now, so you're driving." Her gaze drops back down to her lap. His brows scrunch together. "_Or…_Not. If you're not ready for it, anyway."

"No, no…I should try and learn, but…I kinda need you awake the first few times." She shrugs, looking back up at him.

"That's true…" He scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. "Well, how about we just…Rest for a while in the van before we get going? I'm sure I'll be okay enough to drive after some sleep."

"_You sure?_ _Even with one arm?_ I mean, once you're awake, I can take the wheel if you help me out," She suggests.

"I'm sure I can manage. I don't know if this is a good time for driving lessons…" He tightens his lips. "_Especially_ if you're an anxious driver."

"I'll have to learn at _some_ point."

"You will." He nods. "Buh foh nohw…" he starts yawning again. "Let's leave it."

"_Fine._ But you're gonna have to teach me how to hotwire the van once we get going."

* * *

The two friends settle into the van. The lack of windows in the rear would keep them hidden well enough from creepers passing by. Dez lays his head down on his bundled-up cardigan; a makeshift pillow. Not all that comfortable, but better than nothing. He's much too tired to care at this point. His eyes slowly shut, and he drifts off with ease.

Trish checks and makes sure that all of the doors are locked, for probably the fifth time in a row. She had taped up flatted-out brown paper bags against the windows and windshield to keep them both hidden. She crawls into the back, setting up something of a chain fence between the front seats and the back cargo area. Once satisfied, she lies herself down next to her friend, scooting in close enough to share the tablecloth-blanket with him.

She watches him as he rests peacefully. His mouth hangs slightly agape as he breathes steadily. She reflects upon what had happened earlier. _I could have lost him today._ She shudders, the vivid image of him being pulled at the arm by that brute popping back up in her mind. She moves closer to him, her protective instincts kicking in.

"Goodnight, _you doof._" She gives him a light kiss on the cheek and rests her head beside his shoulder. She could have _sworn_ she saw him smile for a second there.

* * *

**Shout out to ****trezisendgame for helping me out with this chapter!**

**-AJ**


	6. Eyes

"I got you pancakes." The redhead sets the plate on her lap. The girl's eyes widen at the luscious sight of the syrup gliding down the sides of the treat. Her mouth begins to water. She never thought she'd be able to see such a thing again – but there it is before her. Beckoning her.

"When and where did you get _this?_" she questions him, pulling herself out of a trance-like state the breakfast treat had sucked her into. Dez continues looking onward without further response, hands on the wheel.

_But one of his arms is injured,_ she realizes, as soon as she faces forward again. She turns to inspect him again. She panics, fearing that she'd been hallucinating as he clearly only has _one_ hand on the wheel. _How'd he hotwire the car with only one hand, anyway?_

"Hey, Trish. How'd you sleep?" Trish jumps as her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the familiar voice, her stack of pancakes nearly falling off her lap. She hesitates before turning around. _It couldn't be…Could it?_

"_Ally?_" Trish asks, now facing the girl in the back. The chestnut-haired girl smiles brightly back at her.

"Hey, sleepy-head." Another voice. The blond appears beside his girlfriend.

"Austin!" Trish exclaims, setting the plate on the dashboard and moving off of her seat to pull the couple into her arms. "How'd you two get here? Are you both okay?"

"We're fine, Trish," Austin replies in his signature happy-go-lucky manner. A sudden change in his expression, his features relaxing into a neutral, almost robotic, state sends a warning to her. "_But who's driving the car?_" he questions, his voice holding what would best be described as malice. Trish's brows push together. _Was that supposed to be some kind of joke?_

"Who's_ -what?_ Dez, of course." Trish gestures beside her. Her two friends watch her with grave expressions upon their faces – their cheer now fully replaced by bitterness. They stare her down as if interrogating her, as if she had done something despicable. "What? What's wrong?"

"_Look what you've done to him,_" Ally speaks up harshly, eyes watering. Her voice alone, carrying sharp accusation, cuts deep. She pulls Austin towards herself and sobs into in chest. Trish dares to look beside her at the driver seat, and immediately wishes she hadn't.

She chokes; gasping for air as the sight had knocked the wind out of her. There he was. Laying his head on the steering wheel, looking up at her with those eyes.

_Those eyes._

No longer that bright, iridescent blue. In fact, completely void of _any_ pigmentation at all. They watch her – still as stone, focused into her own. His whole being, perfectly still, but somehow crying out. Crying out for her; she can feel it as if it were her own.

"Dez…_DEZ!_" she cries, lifting his head off of the steering wheel and setting it back against the seat. "Austin, Ally, I don't know what happened, he was okay – he was fine just a second ago!" she claims, shouting back at them as best she can with her choked-up voice, frantically trying to hold the boy up against the seat. After a lack of response, she looks back to find the couple gone. "_A-Ally? Austin?_" She shudders. They were _right there_. She wastes no time pondering, and lays her head against the redhead's chest, searching for a movement, a heartbeat – _anything_.

"Wh–" she starts, staring at the blob of red goop that had fallen onto her lap. She looks back up. His arm. No longer injured.

No longer _there._

She chokes some more, gasping for air. Plop. Another red goop falls onto her lap from the stump of an arm he has left. The blood oozes out thickly, its movement and viscosity resembling the syrup on her pancakes. Tears streaming down her face, she moves herself off of his lap, only to be pulled back onto it.

"_You did this to me,_" Dez drawls out, his voice raspy and strained. He grips her arm tight. "_You did this._" She tries to scream, she tries to escape. No sound. No movement. Paralyzed.

_Trapped._

* * *

"Trish! Trish, wake up!" the freckled boy urges her, shaking her with his good arm. He winces as she awakens with a violent shriek. She gasps for air, sweat tricking down her forehead. Her body shakes as violently as her screech, her face slowly regaining its color as she pulls herself back into reality. He wraps his arm around her and she buries her face into his shoulder.

"You-you're okay," she speaks softly, trying to steady her breathing. "You're okay."

"Well, I guess. I mean, my arm still hurts." He shrugs, pain shooting through his injured arm as he does so. "Owww, ow." He grits his teeth. Trish chuckles lightly, pulling her head back to look at him.

"Doofus," she jests, her tears still gliding down her cheeks, adding to the shine of the sweat.

"_Bad dream?_" He asks seriously, those blue eyes of his holding concern. _Those blue eyes._ She never thought she'd be so relieved to see them. "You were shifting a lot and making sounds while you were sleeping." He pulls a clean rag out of his pocket and dabs her cheeks lightly.

"Yeah. Bad dream. Just a dream," she says, sighing with relief as her eyes travelling down to stare at the floor of the van. The small action of him wiping up her tears did something to her. A good sort of something. A comfort she desperately needed. "Austin and Ally were in it. I miss them."

"I'm sure they're okay, Trish," he consoles her, setting aside the rag. He scooches beside her and begins rubbing her back, as best he can with his one free hand. She tenses at his gentle touch; her dream had put her on edge. She relaxes after a few moments as he continues, putting her at ease with the lulling massage."Wait – so what happened to _me_ in your dream? You said 'you're okay'. _Did I die?_ Did I turn into a zombie or something? Did I–oof!" He huffs as gives him a solid shove and moves away from him.

"Shut up."

"_Owwww,_ what was that for?" he whines. "I'm _already_ injured, Trish. That's so not cool." She rolls her eyes.

"Wait a second…" She quiets, holding up a finger to shush him, too. The hum of the engine remains. "You started up the car? _How?_ You can't use one of your arms." Sudden flashbacks to her dream make her grow wary.

"Well, it wasn't easy. Had to use my teeth for some of it, but I managed." He shrugs his right shoulder. She smacks his right arm. "_Ow!_"

"Why didn't you wake me up? You were supposed to show _me_ how to hotwire it!" she rebukes him. He bites down on his chapped lower lip.

"You don't have to babysit me, Trish. I managed just fine." He tucks the rag into his pocket.

"But your arm–"

"–_It doesn't matter._ I _know_ I'm dragging you down, okay? I know you feel like you always have to look out for me, _but you don't._" His tone is sharp; she's thrown off. She studies his face, tilting her head. Even putting aside the slowly growing stubble, he looks as if he's aged, through expression alone. Or perhaps through hunger, dehydration, and sleep deprivation – which they both faced a lot of lately.

"Dez, you don't–…You, you're not–" she starts, unable to finish the sentence. _I mean, he's not wrong_, she admits to herself. "Dez, the things is…_I don't mind._"

"_What?_" His brows scrunch together, not expecting such an answer. Trish exhales deeply, getting up on her knees, positioning herself in front of him, and setting her hands lightly upon his shoulders. Her eyes find great difficulty meeting his, but she manages it.

"_I'm here for you._ And I'm probably never going to stop complaining about it, but I'm _always_ going to 'babysit' you. I'm _always_ going to look out for you. _Whether you want me to or not._ And I'm _well aware_ that I don't _have_ to." She lets go of his shoulders promptly and sits back down. "It's bad enough I let _that_ happen." She gestures to his injured arm. A heavy pause as Dez collects his thoughts, her words taking him by surprise.

"Trish, you…You didn't…_This wasn't your fault,_" he finally starts after some time. "It was _my_ idea to drive through the horde. And _I _was the one who panicked and let go of the accelerator. None of this was your fault. In fact, you're the one who saved my life. _Again._ Can you please explain to me how the _hell_ this is _your_ fault?!" His voice had quickly escalated in volume without him realizing it. He hadn't meant to yell at her, but to let her feel responsible for his own actions? He wouldn't have it.

"I…" Trish, silenced by his words, drops her gaze to the floor once again. They sit in silence, her staring down in front of herself and him watching her in disbelief. "We should get going," she states, looking back up at him.

"Yeah, we should." He nods, carefully picking himself up off the ground, grabbing one of the seats with his free hand to support him. He moves to the driver's seat and looks back at her, jerking his head to ask her to come join him up front. She obliges and joins him. She hovers over him and helps him get buckled up, bent over at an angle that he happens to finds very pleasant.

"_What are you looking at, doof?_" she snaps as she catches his line of sight.

"I can see your boobies," he admits, snickering. She backhands him against his chest. "_Ow!_"

"Ew, stop staring at them!" She shoots him a threatening glare. Was his spending all this time alone with her causing this? She doesn't want to feel unsafe with him. He's all she has right now, after all. _Why did he have to make this weird?_

"I wasn't staring, it's kind of right in my face." He smiles. "But I'll look away." He does just that, staring out the window as she finishes fastening his seatbelt. She smiles at him, her doubt washing away. He's always been respectful with these sorts of things. She sits herself down on the passenger seat and buckles herself in.

"Alright, let's get going, then." She settles herself in her seat.

"Hey, so…What the heck was that kiss about?" Dez queries suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" She stiffens, knowing _exactly_ what he's referring to. She hoped he had been asleep when it happened.

"You kissed me last night. On the cheek – remember? I mean, I had my eyes closed, but unless someone else was in the van with us…"

"Yeah, _so? _You almost _died,_ Dez. It's not out of the ordinary to want to kiss you 'cause I'm happy you're alive. That's all it was," she disputes, as if he were making a suggestion of some sort. And she _really_ isn't in the mood for that sort of conversation.

"I'm not arguing with you, Trish. You don't have to get all defensive." He smirks, watching her face glow red under his gaze.

"I'm not being defensive, you doof!" she spits out, quickly realizing that saying so didn't help her case whatsoever. "Just drive, _okay?_"

"Okay, just one question…"

"What is it?"

"Are you hoarding extra water for yourself?"

"What? _Why would I do that?_" She looks at him skeptically. "Why are you even asking me that? You think I'd hide something like that from you?" He laughs lightly.

"No, but you seem a lot better hydrated than I am. Your lips are really soft." He grins teasingly at her, enjoying watching her features change as she reacts – bracing himself for the pain that's sure to come. He winces as she punches his shoulder.

"Let's just go." She settles herself back in her seat again, staring out the window – averting her eyes from that taunting look upon his face. Dez quickly checks his mirrors, more out of habit than checking for other cars, or lack thereof, and shifts the gear to drive.

"We should try and find something to eat soon. We're running low on food supplies," Dez comments, dropping his smirk. Trish nods, continuing to stare out the window at a few crawling stragglers the large horde probably left behind.

"Anything but pancakes."

* * *

"I miss pancakes." Austin sighs, sinking back into his seat as he continues driving the big rig down the nearly vacant road. "Fluffy, with melted butter…That sweet, gooey syrup…"

"Austin, you're drooling." Ally smiles, shaking her head at the boy.

"Oh…Sorry." He wipes it off with his wrist. "It's just…We took a lot of things for granted. The big things, the little things…I never thought clean water would taste so good." Ally rests her cheek on her hand.

"Speaking of…When do you think we're going to reach the next city? We're running low on water already. It's bad enough we couldn't stop long enough at the last city we passed cause of those huge hordes." She stares off through the windshield.

"You're asking _me?_" he laughs. He was never any good at geography, after all. "Hey, don't worry, Als. I'm sure we'll get _somewhere_ soon."

"Hopefully somewhere safe enough." She breathes out heavily, burying her face into her hands. "And I hope we find Trish and Dez soon."

"Yeah." Austin's cheerful demeanor is darkened by her words. He stares onward, trying to rid himself of any negative thoughts. _Trish and Dez are okay_, he assures himself. _They probably already got home safely and are waiting for us._

"I'm sorry, Austin. I didn't mean to upset you…I'm just really worried," she speaks up, immediately noticing how her words had affected him upon dropping her hands from her face. She knows her boyfriend's a sensitive soul, and as positive as he is, he worries just as much as she does. She rubs his shoulder gently. He responds with a small, but melancholy, smile which fades all too soon.

"Me, too. But, well, Trish and Dez always made a good team. I'm sure they're doing just fine." Austin nods, feeling more confident in the thought that the two of them are okay. Ally laughs softly, remembering all of the bickering and disagreements between their two best friends.

"It's weird how, even with all of the arguments, they always manage to pull off such amazing things together. I mean, I worried a lot about the conflicts they had with each other at first, but then seeing how they're always there for each other when it counts, and sometimes even when it doesn't…And how despite their differences, they're so much alike…Sometimes I feel like the arguments are just there for fun. To spice things up, or something."

"You think they _like_ to fight with each other?"

"Yeah, actually. I really think they do."

"Maybe we should try that. To spice things up." Austin smiles coyly at the girl. Ally shakes her head, laughing.

"I think we're good the way we are," she reasons.

"_I_ think it's been too long since we've kissed." He winks at her, slowing the truck to a halt and shifting the gear to 'park'. Ally winks back, however in a dorkier manner, which gets a giggle out of her boyfriend.

"_I_ think you're right, Austin." She clicks the buckle of his seatbelt, freeing him from the restraint, and pulls him towards her. "Pucker up."

* * *

"_Excuse me?_" Trish asks the boy in disbelief.

"I said _buckle up_ – the road looks like it's about to get really rough," he replies, confused as to why she had been so shocked by his question.

"Oh." She nods, fastening her seatbelt. She had taken her belt off earlier as it had begun to irritate her neck. She mentally curses her shortness, as the redness on her neck would probably get worse.

"What did you _think_ I said?" he asks, genuinely interested in her answer. She could feel the heat rising again, but she keeps her cool.

"I thought you told me to _'pucker up'_. I was _this close_ to slapping you upside the head," she warns him. She had expected him to laugh. Or smile. Or tease her in some way. He does none of that, just simply stares ahead, trying his best to hide whatever it is he is feeling at the moment.

After about thirty seconds of silence, the two of them staring ahead as Dez continues to drive the van down the road, he couldn't contain his thoughts. He slams his foot on the break, Trish bracing her hands against the dashboard to protect her face from getting slammed.

"Dez! _What the hell?_!" she shouts at him, turning to look at the broken boy.

"_Would that be so bad?_" he asks her, parking the van as he avoids eye-contact with the girl.

"What are you even talking about?"

"Me wanting to kiss you. _Would that be so bad?_" He finally lets his eyes meet with hers. Not believing what she's hearing, she says nothing as she gathers her thoughts, uncertain of how to reply. Too damaged for her to be too firm with him – but the gall he had in asking what he did enrages her, igniting the need to put him in his place.

"_Would it,_ Trish? Don't tell me the thought's never crossed your mind."

"Dez, is this really the time to be–?"

"–Maybe it is. Trish, we could die at any given moment, _I need to know._ Why would it be so bad to kiss me?"

"Uh, because that'd be a weird thing for two people who are _just friends_ to do? I don't know – why are you even asking me this? Do you _want_ to kiss me?" She never imagined they'd ever be having this conversation. She never _wanted _this conversation. _Why is he making such a big deal out of it?_

"I don't know, maybe I just want to be kissed before I…I…I might never get the chance." A cold quiet engulfs them after his confession. Trish stares intently at the boy, her eyes softening along with her voice.

"Wait a second…You mean you've never….? _You and Carrie never…?_" Trish begins to ask. He shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the floor. "But, you two were so close..._Why not?_"

"It just…The timing never seemed right, I guess. I don't know. Maybe I was always waiting for that fairytale kiss or something." He sinks back in his chair.

"You can't just wait around, Dez. Sometimes, you need to give it a little push and make an effort. It might not seem like it at first, but it could end up being that fairytale kiss you want. But waiting around idly for it isn't going to get you anywhere," she advises.

"How do I even start?" He asks her, his eyes finding their way back to her. She sighs, unbuckles herself and shifts over to his side. She hovers over him, grasping his left shoulder in one hand and his chin in the other. His eyes widen and he can feel himself tense up at her proximity.

"Hold her like this, gently. Look her directly in the eyes like this, maybe tell her something sappy like how pretty she is. Inch closer. If she pulls back, that means she's not ready and you shouldn't go for it. If she leans in, you're good to go." She releases her hold on him, and he lets out a heavy breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "It's as simple as that."

As she moves back towards her chair, she feels his hold on her arm and panics. She doesn't want to turn around. She can't. Was her dream just giving her a vision into reality? Is she to turn around and find his dead eyes ripping into her soul, accusing her of being his murderer? The vivid memories of the dream so fresh in her mind, she shuts her eyes tight as she feels herself being pulled towards him.

He pulls her near and sits her down on his leg. With his free hand, he softly caresses her cheek and her face relaxes. Her eyes remain closed. He slides his hand down under her chin and lifts it slightly. "Trish?" he asks timidly, feeling himself shake and choke up as he drowns in his nervousness. She opens her eyes cautiously; relief floods over her as she realizes that this is no nightmarish vision come true. It's just Dez. Slightly broken, but alive.

"You're okay," she whispers, meaning for that to be in her head.

"Thanks to you," he responds, making her realize that she had said her thoughts aloud. He tugs her chin lightly, pulling her closer. Her mind berates her, urging her to pull back. But she cannot. Lost in the feeling of his fingers holding her chin, his warm breath brushing her face, and those bright eyes reeling her in, she frees herself from her inhibitions and lets his hand guide her.

As soon as the warmth of his lips had reached her own, she felt it. There would be no easy way to describe the feeling, but she feels it shoot through her body – firing off chemical signals all over within a fraction of a second. Which is exactly how long the kiss lasts.

Just having barely brushed their lips together, they jump apart as they hear loud banging on the driver's side window. The toothy grin of a lanky fellow in a bandanna sends their short-lived euphoria running in the opposite direction.

"Lookie what I found here, Sam," the man in the bandanna says to his partner beside him.

"Good find, Ray." Without another word, the large man takes his fist to the glass. The frightened duo in the vehicle shield their eyes.


	7. Fright

The ghost of her lips still resides on his own; such a shock to his system they had caused, even if it was for just a split second. But for that short about of time, he had felt safe. He had felt his strength return to him. He had felt that there would be a future for them.

All too soon, it had been interrupted. All too soon the color that had taken over and flushed his cheeks been drained, leaving him paler than his usual. And all too quickly he had found himself bound, feet and hands immobilized by knots only a sailor would know how to tie. Or perhaps a pirate in this case?

He whimpers quietly, his injured arm strained by its placement behind him. They had laughed at his silent tears while binding him. He lifts his gaze to his captors, who had just finished tying up his friend, after great difficulty. At first, he had been shaking, assuming that they'd try to do to her what they had done to that man back at the playground. He was strangely reassured as he saw the ropes. They don't want to kill her. At least, not _yet._

Watching them try to get their hands on Trish is a sight worth seeing. Even upon eventually capturing her, she does not fail to put up a fight, leaving the two men exhausted. They eventually wear her down, which makes the situation difficult for Dez to watch. He knows this passive state of hers will not last, however, and that she will be struggling and kicking again, soon enough. Ropes and gags would never be enough to hold back the fire that is Trish de la Rosa.

_But what of himself?_

He squirms with discomfort in the back of their pickup truck. They set Trish down beside him, muttering hushed words to each other that he cannot comprehend. Dez looks to his friend, worry donned on his face. As far as he can discern, they hadn't harmed her, however judging by the struggle they've had in capturing her, she must have used up all of her strength. Her eyes trained on their captors, Dez assumes that she's plotting. She's always been a mastermind at plotting revenge against those who cross her. It's unlikely that she'd let these two off easy, the way they subdued her. He wouldn't either. But he isn't nearly as threatening as she, of course.

Still, seeing the way they had handled her infected him with something dark; something brooding. Act on it, however? He probably couldn't. He doesn't have it in him. _But when it comes to her…_

His thoughts are interrupted by a murmuring Trish, looking his way. _She's trying to tell me something_, he understands this much. He responds with curiosity in his eyes, brow raised to show his lack of comprehension. She sighs, rubbing her face against her shoulder in an attempt to remove the gag. _This may take a while._

He jumps slightly at the sound and rumble of the vehicle starting up. Upon doing so, part of the metal frame of the window to the passenger area behind him latches onto the back of his gag, pulling the piece of cloth right off. Trish looks up at him and groans, clearly upset that he had it removed so effortlessly. He glances behind him through the window. The two men seemed busy with their bickering, as the smaller man, Ray, started to get the truck moving. Dez takes this opportunity and leans his face down towards the girl's. She moves her head away from him, startled by the sudden closeness.

"Hey, it's okay," he whispers. "I'm just going to get that gag off you." She continues looking skeptical, but allows him to get near her. His breathing down her neck doesn't make it all that easy for her to keep calm, however. He tries to grasp the cloth in his teeth at her cheeks. Trish winces, not fond of the traces of saliva he's leaving on her face in his attempts. Once he's finally able to snag it between his teeth, he pulls the gag down off her face. "There we go."

"Thanks. Now what do you propose we do about the rope?" she asks in hushed tones, rubbing her cheek on her shoulder to wipe off his spit.

"We could try using our teeth on those, too," he suggests, with a shrug. He whimpers again as the action causes further discomfort on his left arm. Trish responds with an unenthusiastic nod. "Hey, what do you think they're going to do to us?" he asks, hoping she had figured something out in her observations.

"Maybe they need bait?" she guesses. She hadn't picked up on much of their conversation. Sam and Ray were fairly quiet about the whole ordeal.

"They would've killed us already then, though."

"Unless they need _liv_e bait." She looks about herself, examining their expansive artillery. Machine guns abound, blades that looked like ancient relics they might have lifted from a museum, beer cans, and an assortment of different kinds of bandages and topical ointments. _Where have these guys even been?_, she ponders.

"Whatever it is, it can't be good." He winces with discomfort, his arm growing more and more strained by the minute. The two men had tied the ropes so tightly, his hands have no room to even squirm. He feels the numbness setting in, and hopes it would travel up his arm to help the pain subside around his torn ligaments. Trish grimaces as she watches him struggle.

"That _can't_ be comfortable," she recites her immediate thoughts aloud.

"Yeah. It's not."

"I'm sorry."

"Trish, _none_ of this is your fault. _Don't apologize._" Due to the sudden adamancy of his tone, she nods and quiets herself. Normally this tone of his would come as a challenge to her, one she would usually not back down on. However, knowing that's he's in a great deal of pain, she lets it slide.

"Their gags came off, Ray," Sam comments upon overhearing Dez, eyeing the two off them from the passenger seat. "Should I put 'em back on?"

"Forget it, we's almost there. And it ain't like they gonna try 'an call out for anybody. I just put those on 'em so I didn't have to hear them yappin' the whole ride." Ray pulls over into a side-street off the highway, parking next to what looks like an old factory building. The cartoony face on the side of the building must have been a warm, welcoming display - once upon a time. The wear and tear had done its share. This building was clearly abandoned long before all went to hell. The groans and throaty growls within can be heard fairly clearly from the outside. There's a zoo of them in there. Creepers abound. The two men hop out of their respective sides of the pick-up, and make their way over to the back.

"_Why are we here?_" Trish demands, speaking slowly, but with momentum – irked by the smaller man's "yapping" comment. Dez's amazement with the girl's assertiveness remains unceasing. In the moments she's the most vulnerable, her words become her weapon. Though she's more bark than bite, her words _alone_ can be a serrated edge of dread-inflicting malignity. As much damage as that sharp, quick-witted tongue of hers can inflict, and as much trepidation as she brings to rise in him, he cannot help his excitement.

"Y-yeah," Dez stutters, building on his friend's demand. "And _where_ are we, a-anyway?" He curses himself internally for not having the girl's confidence in this state of potential peril; his voice crumbles with every word. The smaller man's toothy grin surfaces, the few polished gold teeth of his catching a glimmer of sun – though still not able to outshine the red sunburns across his face.

"We's gonna play a little game," he starts. Trish and Dez look at each other in confusion before turning back to their captors, expressions urging him to further explain. "Sam – elaborate for the kiddies." The larger man nods at his partner, and speaks up.

"This was our safehouse, but there's been a breach. Now the whole building's crawling with creepers. We'd blow the place up, but these supplies are too important to lose. So we're gonna play a little game we like to call 'Get-In-The-Damn-Building-And-Bring-Us-Our-Supplies-And-You-Don't-Get-Shot."

"That's a _terrible_ name for a game. It's _way_ too long. _Oh!_ You could abbreviate it to G-I-T-D-B-A-B-U-O-S-A-Y-D-G-S." Dez smiles proudly at the creation of his excessively long acronym, missing the point entirely. All three of the others stare back at him without a word. He drops the childlike grin, shifting his eyes down nervously – mentally admonishing himself, knowing just how idiotic he must've sounded. Attempting confidence while anxious usually backfires for him, and this time is no different. Trish, however, seems more concerned than annoyed.

"You're right, Dez. It _is_ a stupid name for a game," she adds, helping him out. He smiles at her, mouthing a 'thank you'. She smiles back at him, then shifts her gaze over to Sam and Ray – her smile morphing into a condescending smirk. "But it's fitting for such a _stupid_ game. You really think we're going to be _able_ to help you, let alone _want_ to? We're just a couple of kids." Ray glares back at her.

"You're testin' my patience, kiddo."

"You don't have a lot of that, _do you?_" she provokes him further. His gun clicks and he raises it up, taking aim at her head. Her expression remains calm and firm, though the same cannot be said of her friend who feels his blood run cold and damn near pisses himself at the sight of weapon being pulled.

"Your mommy ain't ever tell you to quit your squawkin' at folks holdin' guns?" Ray threatens, gripping the handle of the gun tighter and positioning his trigger finger as he spits off to the side.

"N-n-n-no! Sh-she's sorry. _Please!_ I-I'll get her to be quiet. Please don't–" Dez pleads, leaning his body down in front of her as he attempts to guard her. She feels him trembling against her. His breathing is rapid and heavy, but he shows no sign of backing down.

"Dez, calm down – he's _bluffing._ He's not going to shoot me. He _needs_ me," she reassures her friend. Dez, not feeling any ease by her words, remains in his position – as painful as it is for his arm – blocking her from Ray's warpath.

"I got two a yous, I don't _need_ you. I could just shoot you an' send carrot-top in alone," Ray says matter-of-factly, weapon still raised. Sam puts a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"_Easy there, _Ray. Save your bullets. We need her and you _know_ it. The other kid's clearly chicken-shit and he won't make it out alive without the other one."

"_I resent that,_" Dez remarks, his tone solidifying.

"I resent _you_, pumpkin-head" Sam counters, flatly.

"I _get_ it. My hair is orange. How original! And if _I'm_ so chicken_,_ why aren't _you two_ going in, huh?" he challenges them. "_Now put…The gun…Away._" Somehow, someway, the boy had managed to transform his fear into defensiveness. The terror upon seeing Trish's life in jeopardy hadn't entirely been extinguished, but a protective demeanor had squeezed its way into the frontlines of his mind. His anxiety slowly burns away, though at the root it remains – motivating him. Trish raises her brows, actually impressed by this confidence of his that seemingly came out of nowhere. Ray finally lowers his pistol.

"Chicken-shit here might have more guts than you think, Sam." He holsters his pistol and moves towards them, pulling out a pocket knife. "Look kiddies, we ain't even need to shoot you." Dez flinches as the knife nears him, only to have his feet freed by the man. He does the same to Trish. "You can run. But there ain't nothin' out there for miles but a buncha dead-heads lookin' for their next meal, _if that's what you want._" He forcibly turns Dez around and frees his hands. Dez holds in a whimper. "You do this for us, and we'll take you back to your van an' we can all act like nothin' ever happened. Alrighty?" Trish grinds her teeth, leering at the badly sunburnt man before her. He cautiously turns her around and cuts through the rope tied around her hands.

"_Fine_," she agrees, venomously. "But I think I should go in alone. Dez, _you stay._" Before either Ray or Sam can respond, Dez speaks up first.

"Wh-_what?_ Are you _out of your mind,_ Trish?! You can't do this alone!" His now-freed hands gasp her shoulders.

"You're injured, it's not like you can do much with that arm." She gently removes his hands from her shoulders.

"My arm is _fine,_ see?" He winces as he demonstrates some arm movements for her. "_Good as new_," he whimpers between his grinding teeth. "Besides, they might shoot me while you're gone."

"That's true, _we might,_" Sam agrees. Trish shoots the two mercenaries another glare before giving in.

"Alright. So where _exactly_ are your supplies?"

* * *

So far, so good. Though, the two remain on edge; the gurgling and gasping sounds of the monsters growing louder as they move further into the building.

"Maybe, if we find another door, we can escape without them knowing," Dez whispers a suggestion. Trish shakes her head.

"You heard what they said. There's nothing around for miles. We'll die of heat-stroke or dehydration if the zombies don't get to us first." She heaves out a sigh, gripping the bat in her hand tightly. Sam and Ray had refused to give them any weapons, knowing quite well that they'd be used against them. Trish had found the bat near the entrance, after their captors had locked them inside. The small axe that they found? She handed that to Dez, figuring he'd need it more than she would.

"Yeah…I guess." Dez frowns, and allows himself to get lost in thought, as a way to ease himself out of his apprehension. "So, _about that kiss…_" he starts, managing to muster up the courage to converse with her about that minute, yet overwhelming experience they had shared. Even through all that had happened since, he could never get his mind off of that earth-shattering fraction of a second. If he has the gall to go into a building full of creepers, he'd be able to handle this little discussion, _right?_

"What? That practice kiss that didn't even last a second? I wouldn't even call it a _kiss._ What's there to talk about?" she swiftly brushes it off, as if she was already fully prepared to answer him. He grins, noting the change in her tone of voice that clues him in on her own nervousness.

"It was _so_ a kiss," he argues, his cockiness surfacing.

"Dez – is this _really_ the time to be bringing that up?" she retorts sharply, stopping in her tracks and facing him, her glare even more menacing under the flickering lights of the hall. Dez shrugs with his right arm, unphased by her threatening look.

"Well, we _could_ die in here. We might as well get everything off our chests _now._"

"That's what you said to get me to kiss you," she mutters, her eyes travelling down to her feet.

"So you _admit_ it was a kiss!" he pipes up, cheerfully.

"_Fine,_ it was a kiss. _One you guilted me into, by the way._ So don't go pretending that manipulated kiss was anything more than it was," she fires back, her tone rising in volume. Dez scowls back at her.

"_I did no such thing!_ I did _exactly_ what you told me to do. I didn't kiss you until _you_ leaned in," he counters. To this, she has no response. She stares back at him, unable to find her words. He shakes his head slowly at her, appalled that she'd accuse him of such. "But _fine._ If you want to act like it wasn't anything, that's _A-OK with me._" He had been fully prepared to be shut down by her, that part he isn't entirely fazed by. _Of course_ she'd deny any feelings she might have for him – _that,_ he was ready for. But for her to inculpate him for putting any sort of pressure on her? It hurts him; it _worries_ him. _She doesn't trust me_, he comes to realize_._

The growling sounds rise at an accelerated pace. The creatures must have overheard their argument – as if the two of them could ever really keep quiet when they're together. They'd have to face the monsters sooner or later, so now would be no different. Trish pushes forward without another word, bat held up in front of her. Dez follows suit with his axe, not far behind her, but maintaining a bit of distance.

Three of them come into view. One lurching forward slowly, but with strict direction – a stagger in its walk. The second, a large brute with more confidence in its strides, but with an erratic sense of direction, practically walking in circles, yet still drawing closer towards them. The third – a small creeper – scampers towards them on all fours at great speed. Its lizard-like movements are a tell that it had transformed long before the other two, and is further along with its decomposing.

Trish wields her bat, raising it above her head as she charges towards them, letting out something of a war cry to intimidate. Her conviction fueled by her anger, she's well-prepared to give it her all. Dez, as angry as he is with her, quickens his pace to keep up, knowing that she likely can't take on three alone, no matter the level of her fury.

The girl does not hesitate to slam her bat down on the small one's head as it meets her in the middle. She gives the critter a few more swings from the sides, then kicks it aside as she continues to pursue the two larger ones. Dez manages to catch up, raising his axe and bringing it down onto the vulnerable neck of the small creature while it's incapacitated. He cringes, both from the sight of what he had just done, as well as the pain shooting through his left arm. He races after the girl.

The large brute storms towards her. Trish side-steps out of its way, as it runs itself into the wall. She then takes a swing at the back of its head. The monster turns around, it's skull thick enough to take the blow. However, Trish refuses to back down. She takes another swing at the side of its head, but no dice. The brute turns around and backs her up to the opposite wall.

"_Trish!_" Dez cries out as he reaches them. The brute turns around to face the redhead, momentarily distracted. Trish takes this opportunity to slide under its legs, leaving it confused as it turns its head back around. Trish and Dez look to each other and nod. She pushes the side of her body up against the large creature, holding it down against the wall with as much force as she can manage. Dez pulls back the axe, then takes a swing up at its neck. The creature cries out, forcing Trish off of it with a kick of its legs. Dez lets out a squeak, letting go of the axe – still lodged in the brute's neck – backing away as the monster pursues him.

The limping one had almost caught up to them now, as well. Trish picks herself up off the ground. "Dez, you take the other one, I'll handle the big guy." She tosses Dez her bat as he runs past the brute, just barely avoid its grasp as it reaches out for him.

"What? _Why're you–?_ You don't have a weapon!"

"The big guy's got a machete lodged in its leg. _That's _my weapon." She readies herself as the brute approaches her.

"_Be careful._"

"You worry about _you,_ Dez." She rushes at the beast, screaming out to throw it off as she slides under its legs. She grabs onto the handle of the machete lodged in its calf and forces it out before the beast can turn around. It lets out a howl.

Dez stays near, just in case, facing the slowly approaching creeper. _Why can't I be more like her?_, he asks himself. _Why can't I just charge at it?_

_But I'm not Trish._ _I'm just Dez._ He takes a deep breath, getting himself in ready position, holding the bat up over his shoulder as the sluggish creature approaches. Through past experiences with the slow-moving ones, he has learned not to underestimate them. They can be just as deadly, if not worse, than the others.

At least its giving him time to think things through.

He looks behind him, watching as his friend battles the larger one with her newly-procured weapon. What confidence she has, facing a beast twice her size.

"_Dez!_" Trish shouts at him, upon noticing him watching her. Dez freezes up, feeling a bony extremity wrap around his arm. The creature had lured him into a false sense of security with its slow-moving pace. The boy assumed he had more time. He never should have turned around.

Though his bat is still up – and thank goodness for that. For if he hadn't been ready to swing, the monster would have already had its jaws locked around his neck. He swings himself around, crashing the bat right through the decomposing skull. He watches as the body collapses at his feet.

That was _too_ close.

And it was all so…_Thrilling._ The boy manages a small smile at his conquest. His victory is crushed immediately, however, upon hearing his friend's shriek. He turns around to find her on the ground, the brute looming over her. The machete, away from her. She scoots back up against the wall.

"Dez, _I could use some help here!_" she calls out to him, kicking at the beast to keep it away, never once showing her apprehension. How she manages to keep it together in such a situation, he cannot fathom.

Dez barrels towards them, wasting no time, nor any of this adrenaline his trepidation had aroused within him. His _fear_. He begins to realize that he doesn't need to be brave like Trish. He needs to be _afraid._ It's his fear that had saved him, and her, in the past. Not bravery.

And nothing scares him more now than losing her.

He pulls the axe out from the back of the brute's neck. It roars in pain, stumbling backwards slightly, allowing Trish an escape. She grabs the machete and gets back up on her feet, only to watch her friend take another swing at the creature with the axe. This time, it cuts clean through. The body falls back, on top of the poor boy before he has a chance to get out of the way.

"Trish?" Dez requests her, his voice slightly muffled under the beast. The girl laughs. Louder than he's heard her laugh in a long while.

"Okay, hold on," she says, setting her machete down and pushing the carcass off of him as she wipes away the tears her laughter had brought to front. She pulls the boy up onto his feet, handing him his axe. They both share a laugh. Not that anything about this entire situation is funny in the slightest – but they needed it. Dez wipes his eyes with his free hand.

"You're amazing, _you know that?_"

"Yeah. I know," she responds smugly.

"How are you so…_Unafraid?_"

"I'm not. And neither are you. And that's _exactly_ what's keeping us alive." She takes hold of his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. I'll be okay."

"Your arm?"

"Honestly? It _really_ hurts."

"_And you're not complaining?_ Psh. And you call _me_ brave." She shakes her head. "C'mon. The supplies shouldn't be too far. They said down the hallway, second left, and it's the first door we see up the stairs."

* * *

"Alright…Here we are. And no more nuisances. We might actually make it out of here alive." Trish opens up a bag lying in the corner of the room. "I got the food."

"And I got…Toilet paper, some rope, goggles, a crowbar, and...A respirator, I think?" He closes the bag. "Anything else?"

"You'd think they'd have more weapons in here."

"Maybe they keep all that stuff in the pick-up." He hoists the bag over his good shoulder. "This wasn't so bad. We only saw three. Why couldn't they do this themselves? It's not like they're unarmed."

"Yeah…And what's so important about this stuff, anyway? I'm sure they can find all of this in the next city or something." Trish looks about the room, in thought. Dez gasps.

"Maybe they really _did_ just want to play a game!" He smiles brightly at his 'realization'.

"_They didn't want to play a game, you doof!_" she rebukes him, though internally rejoices in the fact that no matter what the situation, Dez would always find a way to just be himself.

"Whatever. Let's just get out of here. I'm pretty sure there are more creepers in this building."

"Yeah, I heard some more sounds on the way here." She lifts up the bag of food, grabs her machete, and starts back towards the hallway.

"_Wait._" Dez holds her back by the shoulder, setting down his bag. She turns to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I–I just…" He loses his words as his eyes meet hers. The corner of his mouth twitches a slight smile. Try as she might, she can't get herself to look away, letting the machete fall out of her hand. She finds herself moving closer, and he, leaning down.

"Stop." She closes her eyes, pressing her hand against his chest to stop him, his lips mere inches away from hers. "What the hell are we doing? We're in a zombie-ridden factory building with two murderers outside waiting for us. _This isn't the time._"

"Well, we might never–"

"–_Stop saying that!_ Dez, we'll live. We'll be _fine._ Don't do this just cause you're worried you'll never get the chance to have that with anyone later." She pushes him away.

"Anyone? I don't care about just _anyone._ I want to kiss _you._" He approaches her, yet again.

"No you _don't,_ Dez! It's just this hell we've been living in. And I'm the only other person you've been around. It's just, I dunno, _adrenaline or something?_ You don't _actually_ feel that way about me," she expounds, sounding strained, exasperated. She sets her bag down and takes a seat on the floor.

"Trish, I don't know what the heck I'm feeling towards you now, but it's _there._ I can't make it go away. _I've tried._ And it wasn't just that kiss, it was way before then. I don't want you feeling uncomfortable around me. I don't want you not trusting me. So I'm trying to be honest with you here." He crouches down beside her. "If you don't want this, I get it. I'll back off, I'm sorry." He takes a seat next to her. She lays her head on his shoulder.

"It's not that I don't want it," she mumbles. He looks down at her.

"_What?_"

"It's just…Why me? Why _now?_" she grasps at her hair, clearly frustrated.

"Maybe because I was too afraid before," he surmises, taking her hand out of her hair and giving it a slight squeeze. "I don't know." She nods, pulling her hand away from his and setting it in her lap.

"So, you're not afraid anymore?"

"No, I'm still afraid. I'm always afraid." He smiles. "But at least now I can face it."

"You're…_Afraid of me?_" she remarks, raising a brow. She can't help but smirk. She had known of his fear of her at the very start of this peculiar friendship of theirs, and she loved it. Although, she had grown begrudgingly fond of the fact that he's been able to stand up to her these past couple of years, mostly unfazed by her wrath – however still attentive to her demands.

"No, I'm afraid of _losing_ you," he promptly adds, rolling his eyes at her smugness. Her smirk vanishing, she continues looking up at him as she internalizes his words.

"I think _now_ is a good time."

"For _what?_" he scrunches his brows together, trying to read her expression. She takes hold of his chin and gently places her lips on his. He reciprocates readily, his arms wrapping around her. She pulls back to breathe, only to dive right back in, her fingers combing through his hair.

Again, he feels the safety the initial kiss had given him. He feels the strength. He feels comfort, actually believing that they might just make it.

The guttural cry of their reality interrupts their blissful escape. Trish, though reluctant, pulls away from the boy and grabs her bag and weapon. Dez, though still somewhat dazed, does the same and follows the girl back into the hallway.


	8. Alive

They had left intrepid warriors, confidence overflowing after their recent conquest, only to crumble at the sound of a dense dissonance of what seemed like hundreds of the beasts.

Slamming the vault door shut behind them, Trish and Dez manage to slip back into the safe room where they had found the supplies. The hall had suddenly flooded with creepers in their short absence, the creatures probably having overheard their earlier ruckus.

"We're trapped. We're trapped, we're trapped, we're trapped, we're trapped, _we're trapped!_" Dez begins chanting, back against the door, legs shaking and knees buckling as he struggles to fight gravity. As his hyperventilating starts, Trish puts down her things and takes a tight hold of his arms.

"_Easy, easy._ We'll get out. We _always_ do." Her grip loosens as she feels some of the tension leave his body. He nods, his breathing easing up. She had a way with calming him. It isn't always the nicest way, but it's a way. Her hands slip off his arms, and he looks to her for guidance.

"So, _what's next?_" he inquires, wide-eyed, yet steady.

"Why are you asking _me?_" She asks softly, her confidence wavering.

"_You're_ always the one with the plan! How do we get out of here?" His pitch had heightened; the anxiety setting in again upon the realization that Trish is just as lost as he. She's always been one step ahead of him in these situations. How can she tell him to take it easy when she, herself, is uncertain of what lies ahead? He feels his body begin to tense again.

"Dez_. It's okay._ We'll figure something out, _but you can't leave it all to me_. Give me something to work with! _You_ have any ideas?" She moves him aside slightly and puts her ear against the vault door. The sounds had amplified. _They're getting closer._

"There could be a ventilation system we can crawl through, maybe?" He looks about the room. Practically airtight. Why would those mercenaries need so much security for some food and medical supplies that they could find just about anywhere? Dez lowers himself down onto his knees and forearms, crawling around to try and find any possible escape they may have missed initially.

Trish joins him in his search for an escape, but halts as her line of sight catches something that could prove useful. "Dez…_Get over here!_"

"Hold on, I'm trying to feel around for a secret trap door–ack!" he starts, before being pulled up onto his feet, Trish hoisting him up by the back of his collar. She leads him over to her findings.

"Tell me," she gestures at the bottle she had found within an open crate, a rag of sorts hanging out of its mouth. "_Is that what I think it?_"

"Woah, _no way!_" he gasps. "Molotov cocktail." He delicately picks it up out of the crate and begins to examine it, just to make sure. "I can't believe they _actually_ have one of these. Like straight out of a video game!" Trish raises a brow at his comments, though the gesture is accompanied with a smile. Memories of all of those violent videos games they had played together in the past somehow come as a comfort.

"They're not exactly _too_ difficult to make, Dez. Liquid laundry detergent and some gasoline, and you're pretty much good to go." She takes the bottle from him to inspect it herself. "We could use this. Did you find a lighter in any of the supply bags?"

"Actually…" He begins sifting through one of the bags. "Hm…Nose hair trimmers…Toenail clippers…Tweezers…"

"Tweezers? Oh, give me those! I doubt they'll miss them." Trish interjects, reaching for them. Dez holds them out to her. Brand new, a shining silver with a little purple zigzag logo. Would do wonders for her brows. Just as she's about to take them from him, he pulls his hand back.

"Alright, but I get to use 'em, too."

"Fair enough," she agrees, without question, taking them from him as he hands them over.

"Ah! Lighter. Check." He pulls the shiny metal cartridge out of the bag and gives it a light shake near his ear. "And it sounds like it still has fuel, too."

"Perfect. Then I've got a plan."

"Throwing a lit Molotov cocktail and making a run for it isn't really much of a plan, Trish. _I_ coulda thought of that." The boys scoffs, though Trish maintains control over herself. _Now's not the time._

"Okay, whatever, _c'mon!_" She orders him, hoisting her bag over her shoulder with one hand, the bottle held in the other. "Just get ready to light it."

* * *

The hallway now engulfed with flames, they take to the stairs. They ascend a path towards the top of the building, where they hope they would find an alternative escape, as the original had been blocked by a few of the brutes. The ear-popping cries behind them, they dare not look back. They cannot afford a second's worth of hesitation. A large enough amount of creepers had escaped the fire and started after them. Some of them, still alight – making them all the more formidable. Dez glimpses back slightly as the stairs make a turn. The insect-like maneuvering of the creatures seemed to defy physics. He could no longer see them as anything even remotely human. Or of this earth, for that matter. As sharp as the pain in his chest grows, he pushes himself harder to keep up with the girl in front of him.

Hearing his gasps for air, Trish slows her pace just slightly – enough for him to catch up. She positions herself behind him and proceeds to push him forward. The climb isn't exactly an easy one for her, either, and she understands that exerting her energy helping out her friend might inevitably lead to her downfall. _But if it can save him…_

A yelp from Dez halts her train of thought, and she finds herself bumping into him as he makes an abrupt stop. He stares up at the wall in front of him. The hollow sockets of the creature before them flex, signifying that it senses their proximity. It had managed to crawl along the walls silently, and ended up in their path without their notice. Trapped between the creature hanging from the wall in front of them, ready to pounce, and the ones tailing them not far behind, they know they cannot run any longer.

Dropping her bag by her feet and kicking it close to the wall, Trish wields her machete. Dez follows suit, and starts swinging his axe, quite erratically, at the creature in front of them, as Trish takes on the stragglers behind. The wall-scaler launches at the boy, sending him falling backwards from the weight of the impact. The ghoulish creature tries for his neck, but he blocks with the axe's handle before using it to force it off of him. He hops back onto his feet, swinging the axe again.

All the while, Trish had been kicking the creatures down off the stairwell, some of them destroyed by the impact against the ground, but others simply slowed down. The machete stays held in front of her, just in case. "Are you doin' okay there?" she asks her friend, eyes still locked on her targets. Dez responds, his voice strained.

"Y-Yeah…I think I'm wearing it down." Though he had failed to even scratch the beast, it is clear that Dez had given it enough of a work out. Its movement slows, making it all the easier for the boy to aim. The creature readies itself to pounce again, but the boy is now prepared. As the beast soars towards him, he shifts to the side, swinging the axe around like one would a baseball bat – slicing the wall-scaler in two. The axe flies all the way around, his momentum nearly cutting his own head off, but stops just a few inches before his neck. A relieved sigh escapes him.

Before he can even fully turn around, Trish heaves him forward. They pick up their bags and continue up the flight of stairs as the creepers try and catch up.

Hearing the raspy sounds, knowing freedom had to be close, Dez pushes himself – his adrenaline coursing through him electrically. No hesitation, no turning around. It takes him a little while to register that Trish is no longer pushing him. Figuring he's going a fast enough pace for her not to, he doesn't think twice about it and continues on. Unbeknownst to him, Trish had fallen behind, her energy nearly eaten up entirely. The creepers close in on the girl.

A door in sight motivates the boy to push himself even harder. He picks up his pace for the home stretch, excited by the possibility of having enough time to barricade the door from the outside before the creatures catch up. He starts to holler as he's mere yards away, feeling the last of his energy burn up. He twists the knob and forces the door open, shouting out a triumphant "WHOO!" as he makes his escape. His celebration is short-lived as he turns around to find that his friend isn't there behind him.

"_Trish?_" He moves back towards the door, hoping to see her close by – fully prepared to brag about his swiftness. He chuckles nervously as he peeks in, not seeing the girl. "Trish? Alright, Trish, this _isn't_ funny – _where are you?_" His heart had just calmed, but he can feel it start to chase his anxiety. His face pales. How far ahead of her did he get? He didn't hear any cries for help.

He sets his bag down and grips the handle of his axe firmly as he storms back inside. He looks below to find her fighting off a growing horde. More and more of them continue climbing up. He races over as fast as his heart is now beating. _How could I leave her behind like that?_, he rebukes himself, wincing at a memory. He had once joked about this very situation with her.

"If we're ever _really_ running from zombies," he told her months ago, after she mocked his gaming skills. They were playing one of their favorite video games together – a zombie game, naturally."I don't have to outrun _them._ I'd just have to outrun _you._"

He mentally curses himself for having even thought of that, let alone saying it aloud to her face. If anything happens to her, it would be his fault, one way or another. She had been protecting him the entire time, and he had left her in his dust to fend for herself. She's the strongest person he's ever known, for sure, but even _she_ couldn't handle a horde this size. _Especially_ not alone.

His panic rises tenfold as he sees them starting to pile on top of the struggling girl. _Why didn't she call me? Why didn't she yell for help?_, questions run through his mind as he approaches the scene. "_Trish!_" he cries out her name, catching the attention of a few of the creepers attacking her. They start towards him, only to be met with the lethal edge of his fury splitting them apart. He continues towards the girl, weapon back in ready position.

"Dez, what are you doing here?! _Go!_" Trish commands him, pushing the creepers off of her before they could snag a bite. Others get ready to pounce. Dez halts just a couple yards from her, brows knitted together, nonplussed.

"Dez, my bag is right there!" she points to where it lay before him. "_Just take it and get the hell out of here!_" It takes him a few seconds to register just what she's doing. The very thought of it sears him.

He bites down on his lower lip, hard. Rage-filled, white-knuckled, and adrenaline pumping ferociously, he charges. Before Trish can even process anything, she finds herself shoved aside by the boy in his warpath as he swings his axe at her pursuers. Unrelenting, she follows behind him. The creepers crowd around the boy.

Trish had not gone through all that effort just to lose him now. She pulls a creeper off of his back by the neck, heaving it onto the floor and stepping on its chest before piercing her blade through its skull. Dez, now more free, starts swinging his axe again, managing to get the other two off of him.

Seizing this opportunity, Trish grapples onto Dez's arm and pulls him along with her towards the exit. Dez picks up on what she's doing and scoops up her bag as he runs alongside her. This time they would run _together._ He latches onto her arm just as her grip on his had released, and leads her as he picks up his pace. Just as he makes it through the open door, making sure Trish is still by his side this time, he slams it shut behind him and presses his back against it.

"_Quick!_ Get something to block the door!" he orders the girl, his hand still tightly clasping her arm. He tosses the bag and axe in his other hand aside, pushing his back against the door even harder.

"I _could_ if you let me go," she snarls at him, yanking her reddened arm away. She dashes over to a group of metal crates – quite conveniently – nearby, and one by one pushes them over to the door. Dez struggles to hold the door closed as he feels the monsters pushing against it from the inside. Trish forces two of the heavy crates against the door. They seem to do the trick, and Dez moves away.

"We should probably stack two more on top, just in case," he advises. Trish attempts lifting one, shaking as she lifts it a few inches off the ground. Dez pitches in on the other side and helps her place the block. They do the same with the fourth, both expelling deep breaths upon completion.

They slide their backs down the crates, sitting themselves in front of them and catching their breaths.

* * *

It had been silent on the rooftop only a short while before the two were at each other's throats – both pissed, both exhausted, and both stubborn as hell.

"_What is wrong with you?!_" he cries out at her, his tone precipitously elevating. The girl before him widens her eyes in alarm, scoping the area to check if he had drawn in any unwanted attention.

"Dez! Keep it down!" she warns him, gripping the handle of her machete tight in her hand. "We don't know for sure if there's anything up here or not."

"Oh, so _now_ you're worried about your safety? What about a little while ago when–"

"–That was different. Besides, I'm alive, _aren't I?_"

"Because _I_ had to go in and _save_ you."

"That was a stupid idea. You should've just taken supplies and ran." The anger had suddenly been pulled from her voice, leaving her with a meek tone. She shakes her head, now trying to avoid any eye-contact with the boy.

"And _then_ what, Trish?" he asks her, moving about her as he tries to get her to look him in the eyes. He stops in front of her and gets a handle on her by the shoulders. Her machete slips out of her hand, clinking against the concrete floor. "_Then_ what, Trish? Just _leave_ you? Uh-uh, I don't think so."

"You nearly got yourself _killed!_" she shouts, finding her voice. Facing him, she wrenches herself out of his grasp. "I know you might think of yourself as some sorta _zombie-slayer_ now, but let's face it - _you're not built for this, Dez._"

"And you _are?_"

"More than _you_ are, clearly."

"I got you out of there, didn't I? _Why can't you just say thank you?_"

"Because you could've _died._ And there's _no way_ I'm going to thank you for that." The silence that follows her words is tense, pulling at the two of them by the hairs of their necks. Her eyes glaze over, though she continues to glare at him, unyielding. His own countenance does not have so much control; it drops at her words.

"What about _you?_" he asks her after a few moments, finally finding his voice, his tone now gentle. "What would have happened to you if I didn't go back to get you?"

"I can handle myself," she mutters, no longer able to maintain eye contact. She looks off the side, wincing as a gust of dust-filled wind blows some of her hair into her face.

"You were in _way_ over your head, Trish." He steps closer to her, brushing the locks out of her face and tucking them behind her ears. He slides his hands forward from there to cup her jaw.

"I...I didn't think we could both make it," she admits, her eyes fighting to keep looking away. Dez maintains his calm, though he feels himself close to caving in – on the verge of expelling his every emotion. The anger, the sadness, the terror – all a fraction away from pushing him into hysteria.

His suspicions were right._ Self-sacrifice. For his sake._ The same girl who once would not even hold his place in line. The same girl who once refused to be his friend for couple months just because he told her that he likes mushrooms on his pizza. _This_ girl.

His words caught in his throat, just about suffocating him, he engulfs her in his arms and rests his head on hers. She sinks into his embrace, leaning on him for support, laying her head on his chest. His heart beat hadn't eased up. He runs his fingers down her tresses.

"_Don't do that again._ Don't you _ever_ do that to me again – _you understand?_"

"I'm not sorry."

"I don't want an apology. _I need a promise._" He pulls away to look her in the face. "_Promise me._"

"Fine. I won't do that again. _But I'm still not sorry_," the girl maintains.

"I am." Dez leans in and gives her a light peck on the forehead. She cocks her head to the side, befuddled by his answer.

"_You're_ sorry? For _what_ exactly? _Saving my life?_"

"So you _admit_ I saved you," he teases her, steering away from her questions.

"Yeah, alright – _you did._" She shakes her head. "But we're not out of the woods yet. Sam and Ray are waiting for us down there. And we have no way of knowing for sure if we can trust them on their word."

"You heard what they said. We can't just run away. Even _if_ we take these supplies. We're too far from anywhere. It won't be enough." Dez leans down and picks up his axe. Staring down at it, he attempts to devise a plan. His left arm aches, his injury still affecting him, but a lot less than it had before. Apparently rest isn't what it needed.

"Dez, they've got _machine guns._ You're not so bad with that axe, but these guys are not those beasts we just fought off. They are malicious criminals that probably have every angle of this figured out." She picks up her machete and tucks a loose curl behind her ear.

"So…We'll just surrender and hope for the best?"

"It's the only chance we've got right now." She shrugs. "Unless you've thought of something better?"

Scratching his stubbled chin in thought, he looks at the two supply bags leaning against the metal crates. "I believe I have."


	9. Define

A trembling hand holds the lighter aflame as the other hand dangles a supply bag above it. Dez steps out into the open, putting on his best poker face – though he never really was any good at bluffing. Biting his lower lip, he tries to maintain his hold on the metal cartridge.

"_Dagummit, boy, what do ya think yer doin'?!_" the pale, sunburnt man was quick to exclaim as the redheaded boy came into light from beside the building. He tosses his beer can behind him and advances towards the boy.

"Take us back to our van like you said you would, and I won't burn this bag," the determined boy asserts, his friend trailing close behind him, the other bag in one hand and her machete in the other.

"Hey, now…Put that lighter down. We're men of our word, see." The larger man raises his hands in surrender. It's clear to them now that whatever it is that the mercenaries want from these bags, it's flammable. "We don't want any trouble. We'll take you back safe and sound."

"I'm not putting _anything_ down." Dez approaches them adamantly, Trish quickening her pace to catch up with him. The two halt before their captors. "What's in these bags that's so important _anyway?_"

"That's none of your concern," Sam asserts. His scrawny companion nods in agreement.

"Yeah, nonya bees." Ray delivers the same message in his own dialect, arms crossed. "And we's still got guns. Y'all should be scared a _us._"

"Guns, huh? _On_ you?" Trish questions, raising the second supply bag next to Dez's, above the flame. "Cause it looks like you two let your guard down. Rookie mistake." Ray clenches his fists.

"We've got worse things to spend our ammo on than a couple of kids. We're not wasting any bullets on the likes of you two." Sam lowers his hands. "Give us the bags and get on the pick-up. We'll take you back."

"No." Dez shakes his head, though his shivering may have made his body language unclear. "We'll hold onto these until you get us back to our van."

"And empty the truck before we get on it. Your pockets and belt...Holder-thingies, too. That's the deal," Trish appends. Dez scrunches his brows together, confused as to why she would request that. She raises a brow at him and waits for him to get it. It takes him a few moments, but the realization eventually dawns on his face.

"_Right._ No weapons." The redhead leans his head towards the girl and whispers to her. "By the way, they're called holsters."

"_Whatever_," she sharply whispers back. After a bit of a stare-down between the two parties, their captors give in to the demands made with a simultaneous raise of their hands in surrender. _Whatever these bags contain, they must be of grave importance to the two men_, Trish suspects, wondering if it'd be a good idea to let them take the bags at all. But it's the only bargaining chip they have.

"_Done and done._" Ray dumps his assortment of knives onto the ground. "But if we come back 'ere and find our stuff's all gone, it's on _you two._ So y'all _better_ drive fast after we drop ya off." Sam proceeds to the pick-up and begins cleaning it out, as promised.

* * *

"We held up our part. _Now hand over our bags,_" Sam demands, wasting not a second's time upon reaching the van. He and Ray hop out of their respective sides of the pickup, waiting impatiently as the two youngsters climb out the back, bags in hand – lighter readily lit.

Dez stares down the two men a few moments longer before reeling his arm back to toss then one of the bags. He stops himself mid-toss. "Wait."

"Oh, _what now_, pumpkin-head?!" Ray cries, veins in his neck visibly popping. "Like Sammy said, w_e done_ our part."

"What's in the bags that're so valuable?"

"Like I said before, that's classified information." Sam's eyes roll. "This game is getting tiresome. If we wanted you both dead, you'd be dead already. Don't _make_ me change my mind." Not wanting to test the large man's patience any further, Dez concedes and tosses him the bag. Trish heaves the other one over to Ray.

"By the way, _you don't scare us,_" Trish maintains, walking past them towards the van as Dez signals her to shut up with a throat-cutting gesture. He chuckles nervously at the stony-eyed men before him before rushing after Trish. He grinds his teeth as he approaches the van - the very real fear that he could get shot in the back at any second invades his thoughts. They could've had a gun hidden away somewhere, after all.

Trish pulls open the driver's side door to the van and hops in. Dez follows suit, relieved by the shot that never came, as he made it in. Not that they couldn't get shot while they're inside. But it provided something of a barrier, and for now, that is enough for him.

They take seat in the cargo area and wait as they hear the pick-up drive off, until the sound completely dissipates. Dez lets out a heavy breath and collapses onto his back, closing his eyes. Though more relaxed now, he's stays alert – just in case. He cannot escape the feeling that this probably won't be the last time they'll be seeing those two.

"That was _wild._" Trish lets out dry laugh, laying down beside him. "_Shit._" She sits up immediately as a thought strikes her.

"_Hm?_"

"What if the car battery's dead? We never got to turn off the engine, remember? And I don't hear it running now…"

Dez's eyes shoot open. He picks himself up and makes his way to the driver's seat. "You're right. I mean, it's not like there was a key to take out." He pulls a lever to pop the hood open and gets out to inspect.

"Dez! Do you even know what you're doing?" Trish calls out to him, taking her seat on the passenger's side.

"Hey, unlike _some people,_ I actually _drive._ I know my way around a car. At least, I _kinda_ do…" He scratches his head, wincing in disgust as he feels the oils and bits of creeper gunk in his hair. "_I really need a shower._"

"_Definitely._ You reek so bad I can't even get used to the smell." Trish pinches her nose mockingly.

"You don't exactly smell like a summer breeze _yourself,_ Trish." He smiles. The playful banter. He could always count on it to bring a grin to his face again. It being the only real normalcy they have left, he's more than happy that they've kept that fire burning.

He leans down to get a closer look under the hood of the van – most of the inner workings of the vehicles pretty foreign to him. But he's always been adept at figuring out how things worked; a perk of being the son of an inventor. After carefully tampering with a few things, he manages to find what he needs.

Trish waits in her seat, anxiously. As annoyed as she is at him now for the quip about her body odor, she'd hate to see him get electrocuted. _Of all the ways to die in a zombie apocalypse…_

Her thoughts interrupted by the start of the engine, she rejoices. "Y_ou actually got it to work?_" Dez rubs his greasy hands off on the car door, then climbs back into the driver's seat.

"Would it _kill_ you to have some faith in me, Curly?" he teases, reaching his hand over and threading a loose curl behind her ear. She bites her lips to prevent a smile from forming, but her attempts do little to hide it. Before she can even open her mouth in reply, Dez speaks up again.

"Wait. They disconnected the battery for us." He stares off in front of him in contemplation.

"Huh?"

"The battery was disconnected. I just had to reconnect it to turn it on." He turns to face her. "They really _did_ plan on bringing us back. They wouldn't've done that otherwise."

"Dez, for all we know, they could've wanted this van for themselves." She shakes her head. "You need to stop trying to see the best in everyone, you doof. That might've worked before all this." She gestures around her. "But that's not a safe attitude to have anymore."

"I'm trying to hang onto as much of as me as I _can_, Trish. I'm not gonna let a few walking corpses or a couple men with guns change or define me. I _can't._" He leans back in his seat. "You're just lucky. You fit into this world so well."

"_Fit in?_ Yeah, right. You _know_ I'm very high-maintenance, Dez. Not being able to take a shower everyday…Heck, every _week_…Not being able to remove unwanted body hair, and body odors…That's all slowly going to make me lose it in the long-run."

"Those things aren't important, though, Trish. Besides, who's gonna care about any of that anyway?"

"_I_ do, Dez. You have your faith in humanity…I have maintaining myself. It's _my_ normalcy. And not being able to do any of that…It just…" She grasps her hair in frustration, repulsion upon her face as she feels something squish between her fingers. "_Ewwww…_There's zombie guts in my hair!" Dez lets out a laugh.

"Hey, you're beautiful – zombie-guts, sweat, and all." Though it may have come across as a joke, he had meant it – and he knows that the eye roll he got from her in a response was her way of thanking him. It's not as if he cannot relate. He liked to maintain a certain amount of upkeep in his own appearance, as well. "At least we got those tweezers, right?" It's Trish's turn to laugh.

"Right." She pulls them out of her pocket. "I may be covered in corpse goo, but at least my eyebrows will look _fabulous._"

"And mine. You promised I could use them – _remember?_"

"Your eyebrows look _fine,_ Dez." Trish scoffs. "But alright, fair enough."

"Ally would probably be nagging us for caring about stuff like that right now, huh?" he muses, the image of their chestnut-haired friend deriding them coming to mind.

"You'd be surprised. She's probably feeling the same way. Wanting that routine. And I _know_ Austin's a wreck without his hair products."

"Self-consciousness is hard to get over. Zombies won't necessarily change that." A worrisome look befalls his face. Trish puts a gentle hand on the boy's arm to relax him, though similar fears cloud her own mind.

"They're _okay,_ Dez. You can't let yourself believe they're not."

* * *

"Oh, thank goodness…" Ally rushes over to the water cooler, attempting to lift the bottle out.

"Careful, Ally!" Austin stops her, taking the three-gallon bottle in his hands and carefully turning it over – trying to spill as little as possible. The couple had finally found a safe enough area to go scavenging for resources. A small motel off the main road – not much left, but it would be enough to last them until Miami. The two creepers lurking about were easy enough for them to take care of. The lounge area with the kitchen had plenty supplies to offer.

"There's food in the cupboards!" the brunette exclaims, never figuring she'd ever get this excited about boxes of cereal. She grabs as many as she can carry and dumps them into the shopping cart Austin had procured earlier in their trek.

"_Ally…_Look what _I_ found…" he smiles as he approaches his girlfriend, hiding something behind his back.

"Austin, we have plenty of maple syrup already. Do we _really_ need more?" The short girl puts her hands on her hips, and the blond gets flashbacks of his mother telling him the same exact thing. He shakes his head.

"No…Well, _yes_, I _did_ find more syrup…But I _also_ found…_Pickles_!" He holds out the jar to her and watches in admiration as her eyes light up. Without another word, she snatches the jar out of his hands and holds it tight in her embrace. He beams at her delighted response. Seeing her happy – seeing her be her dorky self – comes as a great relief to him. He missed seeing her this way.

"Oh, pickles, how I've missed thee!" She presses her face against the cool jar, closing her eyes in pure bliss.

"Um…_You're welcome?_" Austin laughs lightly, remembering his reaction was not that different when they'd found their first bottle of syrup on their journey. Ally sets the jar down carefully in the cart.

"C'mon, let's clear out the cupboards." She hops up onto the counter to reach the higher-up ones.

"We should probably leave some stuff…" Austin looks about himself, around the room. "I mean, other people might come by looking for supplies, too. Can you imagine coming here and not finding _anything?_ We're probably not only ones low on stuff." Ally turns to give the blond a warm smile. One of the things she loves most about him is that he always puts others before himself. It relieves her to know nothing in this hell has changed who he is.

"Yeah…I mean, for all we know, Trish and Dez might even stop by here," she adds, a glimmer of hope in her otherwise uncertain tone. "If they're not already ahead of us, of course."

"Right." He helps his girlfriend off the counter, offering a hand. "They're probably doing better than us, though. They were always better than me at zombie games. First-person-shooters just aren't my thing." Ally stops herself from making a comment about how games and this real-life situation cannot be compared, knowing that this is likely just Austin's way of coping with the uncertainty regarding their friends.

"Puzzle games are more fun anyway." She places some cans of beans into the cart.

* * *

"How long do you think we have till Miami?" Trish speaks up after a prolonged silence between them. She isn't sure what had happened. At first, the two were able to keep a light banter going. This banter quickly escalated into an argument, which later deescalated into laughter. The laughter soon turned into something else entirely – the stolen glances, the shy smiles, the gentle shoulder touches…They haven't quite figured out what this new game is between them. In unfamiliar territory, they retreat to silence, confiding in the occasional snarky remark.

"Well, I'm no GPS, but I think we still have a couple hours to go. Not sure if our fuel tank will hold up. We need to find gas. Or a different vehicle. Or–" he pauses, as he spots a structure up ahead. A familiar logo, with prices in large digits underneath it. "There's a gas station up ahead."

"Wait – _seriously?" _She meets his sight up ahead. "What are the chances that there'll still be gas cans left over?"

"Hmm…Not sure, but it can't be entirely cleaned out of food, right? And maybe I can try and hack one of the pumps."

"You can do that?"

"I said I can _try._" He pulls over upon reaching the place, parking the car. "Alright, I'm gonna look for some gas and fill up the tank. You can go get the food and water, and whatever else you think we might need. Like car freshener or deodorant."

"Oh, definitely need those. And bandages. And maybe a proper sling for your arm." She gestures to his injured limb.

"My arm's actually doing okay. But yeah, try to find one anyway. Also, you're out of pads and tampons," he adds. Trish gives the boy a questioning look. He raises his hands up in defense. "_What?_ I thought keeping inventory would be a good idea."

"Right." She laughs. "Stop poking around my stuff, Doofus." He scratches his chin thought.

"Hey, do you think the zombies can smell it when you're on your–?"

"–Yeah, I'm not letting you finish that sentence," she quickly interrupts him, rushing off into the food mart. The boy shrugs and follows her lead, though Trish makes sure to maintain her distance.

True, they had been friends for quite some time, but he seemed to be getting a little too close for comfort. Or perhaps close enough. But she couldn't allow that. Her face heats as she tries not to look his way while gathering various snacks. Half the store had been cleaned out already. It's apparent that quite a few people have already scavenged here, though the two of them were lucky enough to happen upon a decent amount of supplies. Water, especially. The temperatures only rising each passing day, they need it more than anything.

"Hey do we need these?" Dez asks nonchalantly as he tosses Trish a box from behind the counter. Her face reddens virally upon catching it.

"_Dez!_" she rebukes him, letting the little box drop out of her hands. "_No._ No, we do not need…_Those…_" The boy's composed demeanor quickly crumbles into more laughter.

"That reaction was _so_ worth it, though." His laughter is silenced by the same box being thrown at his head. "Hey!"

"You're an _idiot._"

"Hey, condoms have _many_ uses. They make great balloons!" He bites his lip, trying his best to suppress his laughter. _Her expression is priceless._

"Can you stop? I'm _sick_ of these jokes. They're _not_ funny!" she contends, angrily stuffing more supplies into her basket. _He's taking it way too far,_ she fears. _What has gotten into him?_

Dez frowns. He hadn't realized how uncomfortable he'd been making her. "I…I'm sorry. I'll stop." Perhaps he had gotten too cocky. It's not as if he wouldn't react the same way had it been the other way around. Well, he probably wouldn't have thrown anything at her – _unless of course he had a death wish._ He understands her discomfort. The situation doesn't provide much leeway for jokes like those. She has to be able to trust him and depend on him, and he, her. They've only got each other.

"Thank you." Her voice meek, her anger dies down. "I don't like not being able to talk to you. Heck, you're the only one I _have_ to talk to. _Don't make things weird._"

"You're right." He gives her a gentle smile of agreement, then kneels down and inspects the lower shelves behind the counter. After pushing aside some broken jars and assorted cups of two-minute noodles, he finds what he needs. "Eureka!" He lifts the two red jugs onto the counter top.

"You found gas cans?"

"Yup! And they're full." He investigates the area more in case he had missed any. Upon finding no more, he hauls the two outside to the van. Trish lets out an exhausted huff. The day had been long, and she's just about ready to crash. She finishes up on her side, then grabs some more supplies from behind the counter. Though tempted to take some lottery tickets with her, she decides against it.

* * *

Agreeing to spend the night parked behind the gas station, the two friends prepare their space, covering the windows and trying to make the cargo hold as comfortable as possible. The space had tightened up with all of the supplies.

The ginger lays his head atop his bundled-up cardigan. If there's one thing he wishes they could've found, it's pillows. Trish lies down next to him, a couple paper towel rolls providing sufficient head and neck support. She turns her body to face him, mouth open as if about to speak, but no words make it out. Dez reaches a hand out and caresses her cheek with the back of it.

"Are you still mad?" he can't help but ask. He hadn't meant to trouble her. He just couldn't help himself. He loves seeing her react, hearing all of the colorful remarks she'd send his way. That fire of hers kindles something within himself. It's more than simply a game they play – and it's more than just a challenge. Yes, it's essentially his way of flirting, but even _beyond_ that…

It's his _motivation._ It's his _inspiration._

Her words always somehow bring out the best in him. She never insults him enough to hurt him, and never patronizes him either. Her compliments, though scarce, always hold sincerity. Her snark sparks his creativity. Though he has to be careful not push it _too_ far – too far would mean losing her trust. Too far would mean a potential rupture in their friendship – a leak that would eventually sink it. He cannot afford that. He cannot lose her.

"No. But you're still a doof. And I know that was just your poor attempt at flirting." His face reddens at her words, not that she could see in the dim light coming in through the paper bag-covered windows. The sun has begun to set. Sleeping right after sunset became routine for them. Not much one can do without electricity or gadgets available after dark, of course.

"I'm working on it." He rubs the back of his neck.

"You don't need to work on anything. I _already_ like you."

"_Really?_" The cocky grin returns, bright enough for her to see. She emits a short laugh.

"If I _didn't_, would I do _this?_" She leans in close, giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek. His eyes close as he revels in the feeling of it. How safe he feels right now…How powerful she makes him feel. It's fleeting, however. She pulls away and the dread returns.

"I might need more convincing," he says sullenly. Trish can tell by his tone that this is beyond just a want for more kisses. He craves the comfort. As strong as he's grown throughout this dire circumstance they've been surviving, he'd still needs it. He's _always_ needed it. It's just how he is. _Affectionate._

"I know." She scooches closer to him, wrapping an arm around him before pressing another kiss onto his upper lip. He promptly requites, capturing her lower lip between his and sucking lightly for a second or two before releasing and pressing his lips fully against hers. A warmth floods his body and he feels home again. He rolls over on top of her and his hands grip her sides as her own find their way into his back pockets – their lips never parting in the process. He lets out a muffled yelp when she gives his cheeks a squeeze, and pulls back.

"_Something wrong, Dez?_" she asks coquettishly. She bites her lip, holding in a giggle.

"N-n…No," he stutters. "I-I just wasn't expecting that." At first she figures he's just surprised, but upon reading the discomfort on his face, her tone changes.

"Wow. Okay, so you toss a box of condoms at me, but grabbing your butt is out of the question? Nice, doof. _Real_ nice." Her eyes roll.

"Hey, I was just _joking._"

"Oh, so what? I'm not _good enough_ now? The idea of flirting with me is just a total joke?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, I _never_ said _any_ of that!" he argues, moving off of her. She sits up on her knees.

"What exactly do you want from me, Dez?" Her arms cross over her chest.

"What I want–? What do you _mean?_"

"Look, I know you're just using me for comfort, and I'm fine with that. _I get it_," she starts. Dez's jaw slacks, appalled by what he's hearing. "…But what is it? Is the idea of going all the way with me too gross? Am _I_ gross?"

"What are you–?" He shakes his head. "How could you even _think_ that? That's not it _at all!_"

"Then what is it? _What do you want, Dez?!_" she shouts back, aggravation boiling her. He holds her by the shoulders, trying to relax her.

"Okay, first – I'm _not_ trying to use you. Second, you're _not_ gross." He pauses. "Okay, maybe a _littl_e bit right now with all the creeper gunk and stuff, but so am _I._" He exhales slowly, a bit embarrassed by the whole situation. "I'm just not ready for…_That._ It's got nothing to do with you. It's just how I am." He releases his hold on her shoulders and sits back, slinking in posture as he stares at the van's floor before him. Trish tilts her head, observing him in his state – certainly relieved to know that this…thing…between them is not what she feared it was.

"Okay." She smiles, leaning forward and lifting his chin. "You don't have to feel ashamed of that."

"Thank you." He sighs in relief. "And I'm sorry if I misled you…I-I don't know, I just like teasing you." He shrugs, a small smile forming. "And I don't like kissing you just for the sake of kissing – as _amazing_ as it feels. I _do_ really like you, Trish. And I care about you. And I love being friends with you. And hanging out with you. And I love seeing you happy. And I love your smile. And I love your hair. And I love y–mm…" He continues speaking for a few more seconds, his words muffled by the girl's lips before stopping and realizing he's being kissed again. She pushes him down onto his back, continuing to attack his lips with hers. He pulls her down against him, combing his fingers through her forest of oily curls, her hands latching onto his stubbled jaw.

They forget the world in their escape, for the world cannot stop this. The world cannot define them. It never could.


	10. Nice

_Groans._

The girl rubs her head, her sleep suddenly interrupted. She had taken off her seatbelt earlier due to discomfort, wanting to take a short nap, as she tends to do. Her redheaded companion had just slammed his foot on the breaks, sending her flying forward, crashing against the dashboard in front of her.

"Trish! _Are you okay?!_" Dez puts the car in park, unbuckles, and helps her back into her seat as she holds her aching head. Trish swats him away, her hand flailing, cranky after the rude awakening.

"_What the hell, Dez?!_" She finally opens her eyes to shoot him a glare. His brows push together in concern, regardless. She had hit her head pretty hard. He reaches over to hold the side of her head.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Trish – _but look!_" he points with his other hand beyond the windshield. A woman stands in front of their van, her palms held out in front of her. A tall blonde, seemingly around her mid-twenties, wearing what appears to be a lab coat of some kind, stained with a multitude of _God knows what._

"She just came out of nowhere and stopped in front of us. I nearly ran her over!" Dez explains, reeling himself together after the shock. He pulls his hand back gently from her head. Trish, growling still, rolls down the window on her side.

"Get out of the street, lady! I get that there's zombies out there and you're scared, but that's no reason to get yourself run over by a car, of all things!" she rebukes the stranger. The woman walks over to Dez's window.

"I can explain. I need help. I was left behind by my group, and I really need to get back to the facility I work at. It's imperative that I get back _as soon as possible._" She folds her hands together, pleading the boy. Dez rolls down his window.

"Yeah, of course. We can give you a lift," he agrees immediately, without a second thought. Trish thwaks his head with the back of her hand. "_Yow!_ What was _that_ for?!" He turns to face the abrasive girl, who rolls up the window on her side.

"We need to talk. Close your window."

"But she–"

"–_I said close it!_" He complies, her demanding tone doing him in, and gives the blonde woman an apologetic look, mouthing a "sorry". He finds himself pulled by the collar.

"Have you learned _nothing_ from our recent escapade?" The girl whispers to him harshly, inches away from his face. The boy scratches the back of his head.

"She doesn't look dangerous, Trish. She just needs a ride, that's all. It's not as if she's carrying weapons in that little lab coat," he makes his case, matching her whisper in tone. He winces, the pull at his collar causing discomfort. She releases him, her tone softening – knowing that she has to get a handle on her anger towards the boy. So innocent, so trusting – it's a huge part of who he is. She can't change that. She just needs to convince him.

"We don't know that. We can't go blindly trusting everybody we meet. You _know_ that's dangerous. We can't afford it. We just _can't,_ Dez," she implores him. "We don't know anything about her, or what she wants from us." Dez sighs, confliction in his eyes. Trish makes a good argument. He trusts her judgment. However, there's that nagging part of him that would not – could not – let this go.

"Trish, I think you're overreacting. If she's any danger to us, it would've shown already, right? But no, in fact, she nearly got run over by our van because she's so desperate for help; I think we should help her. And I think _you_ need to go lie down in the back, you've got a red lump on your forehead from the impact." He reaches over, brushing her hair out of her face to get a better look. "Yikes." He gives her a repentant smile. "Look, babe, if we don't help her and she ends up dead – that'll be on _us._ I just couldn't live with that."

Trish feels her cheeks immediately go hot hearing him address her as "babe". She does her best to fight the giddy feeling bubbling up inside of her, and keep it from surfacing. The word had, admittedly, annoyed her when he used to use it on his ex, Carrie. She always figured it was the word itself, but _maybe…_

She snaps herself out of the tangent stream of thought. She's got an argument to win, she must maintain that. She can't let him win her over so easy, _but…_

_Dammit, why must he make me feel this way? Why must he be so..._She bites her lip. "I hope you're right, Dez." She gives in. She hates that she did. But he had made a very valid point. As concerned as she is for their safety, she wouldn't be able to live with herself knowing that they allowed an innocent person to perish when they could've helped her. Perhaps Dez is right. Maybe it's time his judgment takes a turn. "Let her in."

The boy gives her a small, tender smile, leaning over and giving her a light peck on the top lip. "You're doing a good thing here, Trish. I know it's scary out there, but we can't let that ruin us. I'm proud of you." His words melt her, and though she despises the fact that he has this strange sort of power over her, she feels content. She nods, slipping into the back of the van to rest her aching head, and perhaps continue her nap.

Dez leans over to the right and pulls up the lock on the passenger's side of the vehicle, then proceeds to roll down the window on his side. "Hop in." The blonde gives him a grateful smile, hands clasped together in appreciation.

"Thank you. Thank you _so_ much." She rushes over to the passenger side, wasting no time. "Sorry about your head," she immediately apologizes to the girl in the back. Trish mutters something inaudible as she starts drifting off.

"I hope she doesn't have a concussion." Dez looks back at his girl, his eyes holding a monsoon of concern. "She hit her head pretty hard." The blonde woman nods.

"Don't fall asleep, Miss," she advises. "If you have a concussion, it's important to stay awake."

"Yeah, yeah, lady. I don't need your help." Trish scoffs, forcing herself awake. She allowed Dez a chance for her to trust this woman just enough – that doesn't mean she has to play nice.

"Etta. My name's Etta. But if you prefer 'Lady', I'm fine with that." The sly smirk on her lips puts Trish on high alert. Not even five minutes, and this woman's already on her bad side.

"Look, _Etta,_ I don't know who you think you are but–" Trish begins, though Dez cuts her short.

"–So! Etta, where is it that you need to go exactly?" He turns to the woman seated beside him.

"It's a building down the road a few miles, you can't miss it. It's a laboratory I work at. We uh…We've been working on…" She takes a deep breath. "Well, I'm not at liberty to completely discuss it, but its important work that will help our…Current situation. I guess you can say we're working on eliminating the threat at hand."

"You really think that something can be done about all of this?" Dez asks, putting the van in drive, starting down the road. Trish groans some more, the slight rocking motion of the vehicle as it begins moving forward initiating a rolling feeling in her head.

"I think we're definitely onto something." Etta pushes her blonde locks back, out of her face. "I can't say for certain, but we seem to be getting there." She rests her hand delicately on the boy's arm. "I cannot thank you enough for helping me out here. There must be _some_ way I can repay you." She glides her hand down to his bicep. Dez shrugs, ignorant of the more-than-friendly contact. Trish, on the other hand, doesn't miss a thing.

"It's the right thing to do. Don't worry about it." His innocent smile intrigues the woman. She keeps her hand in its place.

"You've got such nice arms." She gives his bicep a teasing little squeeze. Almost immediately, Trish reacts, smacking the woman's hand away. Etta turns to her, arrant surprise on her face. An expression Trish cannot bring herself to believe.

"Sorry. Thought I saw a fly or something," she explains herself with a tight-lipped smile. Etta purses her lips.

"Right. Thanks." She settles herself back in her seat. Trish turns to Dez, the boy completely oblivious as he focuses on the road ahead. His cheerful smile, full of pride for doing what he believes to be the right thing, reflects his cluelessness. For this, Trish is thankful. This woman's charms would likely go right over his head. Not that it would stop her. Trish watches Etta's hand make its way back to rest at the bend of Dez's arm.

_This is gonna be a long drive._

* * *

"I don't like her."

"_Trish…_" Dez drags her name. "Play nice." He picks up a few boxes off the shelves. They had pulled up to yet another mini-mart by a gas station to gather supplies. There's never enough, of course. Etta waits for them by the van, assigned the duty of look-out.

"She's up to something, Dez, I can _feel _it." Trish takes the boxes from him and sets them down in the shopping cart. "The way she looks at us, how she's so secretive about her work…"

"She told us it's confidential, remember? It's none of our business." He opens up a jar of mayo, giving it a sniff. He winces, tossing it aside. "A lot of this stuff's already expired."

"Dez, there's expiration dates you can read. You don't have to sniff everything." She shakes her head. "And it _is_ our business, Dez. If we weren't in the situation we're in, I'd understand confidentiality. But now…There's just too much at stake. We can't keep secrets. We can't be around people that do. It's just not safe."

"She really doesn't seem like she means us any harm. If she does, why hasn't she done something already? She had every opportunity to." He turns to her fully and takes her by the shoulders. "But enough about her, _how's your head?_"

"I'm _fine._" She shakes off his hands.

"Trish." His voice grows stern.

"I've got a little headache, that's all." She shrugs. "I mean, I'm pretty annoyed right now, and that's not helping."

"Annoyed at _me? _I'll stop sniffing everything, I promise!"

"No – at _her_…I just don't like the way she looks at me. Or the way she…_Touches_ you."

"Wait, _what?_"

"Dez, c'mon, she's been all over you. First the thing with your arm, then how she touches your hand anytime she wants to tell you how thankful she is. It's unsettling. I don't trust it. I don't trust _her._" Her arms cross over her chest, as she glances out the glass doors to watch the blonde, who had stayed close to the van. Dez smirks.

"Oh. _I _see what this is about." He nudges her lightly with his elbow as he pushes the cart forward. "You're _jealous._"

"_Protective,_" she asserts, knowing that would be his initial thought.

"_Jealous,_" he sings, chuckling lightly as he inspects a few more jars. "You have nothing to worry about, Trish-Kabob. I'm not interested in her. But I'll tell you what, I'll try to be _less_ charming_. If that's even possible._" He gives her wink. She grinds her teeth, furious that he would not take her seriously.

"Dez, I'm not threatened by her because I think she's going to steal your heart away or something." She huffs. "Though, yes, I'm not all that comfortable with her flirting with you. _But that's not it._ She just…She's shady. And I'm scared." Her anger deteriorates as quickly as it came, leaving a very nervous Trish. A frightened Trish. Dez releases the cart and wraps his arms around her, pulling her head to his chest.

"Not everyone's a monster, Trish. You've got to give people a chance. I know it's hard after going through what we went through, but there _are_ still good people left." He kisses the top of her head. "You don't have to trust her…Just…Trust _me,_ okay?" He pulls back to face her. "You _do_ trust me, right?"

"Of _course,_ you doof. You never gave me a reason not to." She exhales sharply. "And alright. I still don't trust her, but I'll try to give her a chance." She rests her head against his chest as he glides his fingers down through her tresses.

"Thank you." He smiles. "You're still my number one priority, Trish. Remember that." She nods against his chest, reveling in the feeling. She knows they'll have to get back to the van – and back to _that woman _– eventually. But until then, she drinks up the tranquility of the fleeting moment.

* * *

They had driven a few miles after the station when the van starts to breaks down. Smoke rises thickly from the engine before the vehicle comes to a complete halt.

"This _can't_ be happening." Trish grasps at her hair. They hadn't seen another vehicle on the road in a while. How would they carry all the supplies? Surely they wouldn't be able to do so on foot. Dez hops out to inspect the smoking engine, wincing and coughing as the thick clouds surround him. Etta gets out from her side, as well.

"Oh, no, this isn't good…" The blonde covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers. "It seems like your engine has met its end." Trish moves to the front of the van, immediately eyeing something peculiar in the passenger seat. A vial of some sort. It had probably slipped out of Etta's lab coat. She covertly pockets it, then jumps out of the vehicle from Dez's side, pulling the boy away from the engine.

"Dez, I don't think you can fix it." She frowns. "We might have to keep going on foot." He pouts.

"Which means we'll have to lighten our load to whatever we can carry in those backpacks." He shakes his head. "I didn't think it would give out so soon. It's not like it had a huge amount of miles on it. So weird."

"Yeah. Weird." She turns to glance at the other woman, who seemed to be looking through her coat.

Etta climbs back into the car, probably to look for her missing vial upon noticing that it went missing. Trish takes this opportunity to show it to Dez. She pulls it out of her pocket and hands it to him.

"Tell me what this is." Her voice had lowered to a susurration.

"What – where'd you get that?" He takes it from her, unplugging the cork and giving the concoction a whiff. Judging by the reaction on his face, Trish knows it can't be anything good. He plugs it back up. "Trish, why do you have hydrochloric acid on you? This stuff is _highly_ corrosive." Trish knew she could count on him and his super-sniffer to figure it out. The boy had, after all, gotten into – _and_ passed – advanced chemistry their senior year of high school.

"It was in the passenger seat. I'm pretty sure it fell out of Etta's lab coat."

"Oh, you found my vial!" Etta interrupts, jumping out of the car and promptly taking it right out of Dez's hand. "Sorry. This stuff's pretty gnarly. Can't have it fall into the wrong hands."

"Right." Dez gives her a nod, accompanied with a polite smile. "Trish just found it in your seat, she was going to return it to you – isn't that right, Trish?"

"Right. I was just checking with Dez to see if it was…His." She shrugs. "He carries all sorts of strange things." Etta smiles.

"It's not so strange if you're a biochemist." She climbs back into the vehicle, checking to see if she had dropped anything else.

"You believe me _now_, Dez?" Trish mutters to the boy beside her. "I don't care what her profession is. That's a strange thing to just be carrying around unless you plan to do something with it." Dez purses his lips, concern growing on his face.

"Yeah, I'll admit that's kind of unusual. But it doesn't prove anything." He shakes his head. "Nevermind that now. We need to start packing. We're on foot from here on out…At least until we can find another car or something."

"Let's just hope we don't come across any giant hordes on the way." Drowned in her worries surrounding the stranger, she had almost forgotten the other dangers lurking about. She isn't sure, at this point, what she should be more afraid of…The creepers that they will inevitably encounter, or that _creep_ of a woman. "Just…Let's keep our distance from her, okay? We can walk her to her building, but...We should keep away."

"I think I can manage that." He tucks her hair behind her ears. "Don't want you getting all jealous, after all."

"Ugh!" She shoves him away and marches over to the back of the van to start her packing. He suppresses his giggles at her reaction. Though he can't help but believe her fears are warranted. Ever since Trish had brought it up, he had started to pick up on more things. Though he does his best to push those worries to the back of his head. Paranoia never did him any good – and he isn't about to let silly fears get in the way of doing a good deed. And if what this woman says is true, what with her and the other folks at her lab working on a way to end the threat, then saving her could mean saving _many_ lives. _Their own, included._

He follows the short girl to the back of the van to help her pack. It'd be difficult to part with many of the supplies they had gathered, especially with what they had to go through to get it all, but they haven't been left with much of a choice. It's not like they could drag the van along with them – it would only slow them down and cause unnecessary hassle. Then again, it provided a place to sleep – and some protection. But they could find a new one – _right?_

Etta watches them pack on the sidelines, hands in her coat pockets. "I'm sorry. I suppose I caused a bit of bad luck." Dez gives her a sympathetic smile.

"It's not your fault, these things happen." He hands her a plastic bag for her to fill with supplies for herself. She reciprocates the smile, and begins her own packing. Trish rolls her eyes, muttering a few choice words under her breath. Dez shoots her a look, mouthing the words "be nice".

"So…Lad–I mean. _Etta,_" Trish begins. "What exactly is the plan? Like, I get that you can't give us exact details, but how do you plan on…How did you put it? _Eliminating the threat?_" Etta's eyes brightened, a thin smile stretching across her face.

"Oh, well, you know…Something like finding a cure."

"A cure? You mean...A way to turn the people back?" Dez feels his heart drop to his stomach. All those creepers they had killed thus far…All those _people._ They could have been _cured?_ He feels himself start to shake. Had he really become…A _murderer?_

"Well, that's the idea." Etta shrugs. "We can't tell for sure if it's possible to _cure_ them, per say…But we'd like to at least try and prevent it from spreading. Contain it, you know? It's a difficult science, for sure. A very new one. Plus, it's not like we have any contact with the rest of the science world to discuss it. And _well..._" She stares at Trish, an incomprehensible look in her eyes. "Drastic times call for drastic measures."

Trish can feel her knees go weak. Something about the way the woman looks at her. As if she's not another human being.

As if she's…_Cannon fodder._

"Well, let's get moving then, shall we?" Dez clears his throat, looping his arms through his backpack straps. "If we walk at good enough pace, we should be able to get there before dark, right?"

"Correct," Etta confirms. "It's not too far along now, I recognized one of the road signs a little while ago. We're getting close."

Close to _what_ exactly, Trish doesn't feel entirely certain. She links her arm with Dez's, practically clinging to his side. Everything about this woman makes her nervous. The boy gives her arm a comforting squeeze.

"It's going to be okay. _Play nice._"

* * *

**Special thanks to BossVicCossWynch for her help, as well as Kdramaqueen30 on Twitter.**

**-AJ**


	11. Lies

"Dez, I'm _telling_ you, she sabotaged our van," Trish tries to explain to the redhead for the umpteenth time. "We left her alone with it while we were getting supplies at the convenience store. The car was in good condition before. It wouldn't just die like that." She shifts her backpack straps around on her shoulders, the weight of the bag causing her immense discomfort. She had insisted that she needed everything she put in there, regardless of whether or not they were really all that necessary, and is now suffering the consequences.

"Trish, I think you're being ridiculous," Dez argues, frightened if he's honest with himself. Not at the idea of the blonde scientist lady being any threat to them, rather that Trish's paranoia would drive her over the edge. Every little action, every step Etta takes seems to set the curly-haired girl off.

Etta had now gone off alone to use the bushes, _"allegedly"_ as Trish keeps insisting. She quiets her voice, worried the woman would be back any second. "We can't let her know we're onto her. _Keep your voice down_." She looks about herself, tense and on her toes. Etta is nowhere in sight, and that alone is enough to make the girl nervous.

"You mean we can't let her know _you _are onto her? 'Cause I'm not convinced." He pulls his lips slightly to side, shaking his head. Trish grumbles, something about him being too dense to see what's going on. He sighs heavily, wishing that he could find the right words – words to comfort her. To let her know that everything will be just fine, and that not every situation they encounter is a nightmare waiting to happen. That she can let herself _trust_ again.

"Trish, just relax. I'm not going to let _anything_ happen to you." He smiles down at her, lightly caressing her cheek with the side of his hand, happy with himself. _That should soothe her, right?_

He's never been so wrong.

"_Excuse_ me?" she snaps at him, causing him to jerk his hand away. He stares at her, wide-eyed, wondering what he had said wrong. She glares back at him, with a look of disbelief. "_You're_ not going to let anything happen to _me?_" She laughs dryly, humorlessly. Dez frowns, now understanding.

"Trish, look, I _know_ I'm not much of a fighter. I _know_ you've been doing most of the protecting, but I'm _here_ for you. And I won't let you get hurt." He takes hold of her arms to reassure her that he means it. "_I'm here for you._"

"Then why won't you _believe_ me?" Her voice strains, exhausted by the effort she's put in trying to persuade the boy. "If you're _really_ here for me, _be_ here for me." Her doleful eyes look up into his, pleading.

"I _want_ to, Trish…But what you're saying, it…It just doesn't make any sense. If she wanted to hurt us, she would've done so," he tries to reason. "If she wanted our supplies, she would've taken them when we left her alone with the van. She could've taken our _van._ But she _didn't._ What _else_ could she possibly want from us? I highly doubt we have some sort of bounty on our heads." He loosens his grip on her arms, letting his hands slide off them.

Trish's gaze moves down to her shoes. Who knew that _he'd_ ever be the one making sense, and that _she'd_ be coming up with wild conspiracies? Everything Dez says is true, but why can she not shake this foreboding feeling she has? Is it really just jealousy? Jealousy _can't possibly_ make her feel like this, right? Like their lives are being threatened?

"Dez, I want to believe that everything's okay, but I just can't. I don't trust her. I don't trust any of this. We have no car, we have nothing to fight with. We're _naked_ out here with a _complete stranger_ leading us to _God knows where!_" She feels her legs go weak, her anxieties weighing down on her, her fears depleting her energy. She holds onto his shoulders for support.

Dez folds in his lips, finding it difficult to see her this way. Trish had, after all, never been wrong about these sorts of things _– so why would she be wrong now?_ Part of him wants more than anything to believe her, but then there's the nagging part of him that insists that there's still good in people out there. That not _everyone_ is like the mercenaries they had encountered earlier. That they'd be able to rely on more than just each other to get through this.

She takes his silence as reflection, and moves away from him. "I'm going to go check on her. She's been gone way too long."

"Alright, well, I'll stay here just in case she comes back before you. _Be careful!_" Dez calls after her, anxious. He isn't all that comfortable with not being able to see her.

* * *

Hearing whispers puts the girl on high-alert. Not one voice, but two. The clearer one is effeminate; she can tell that it's Etta. The other, garbled and choppy, but definitely human speech – and likely over a device.

Trish tries to blend herself into her surroundings, creeping up closer to the woman quietly, trying to hear the conversation. The bright blonde hair comes into visibility, and soon the rest of her, as well – equipped with a walkie-talkie. Now a set of _those_ would've been a useful find. Trish stays hidden behind the brush, watching and listening from a safe distance.

"We're close. Don't worry, they're still with me," Etta continues her conversation. Trish raises a brow. _They._ She means Dez and her, right? Were people waiting for them? _Why?_

A crackling sound she cannot quite make out comes through the walkie. Etta responds, "Get the provisions ready, they'll be tired and hungry. Pretty sure they've been on the move for a while. They definitely smell like it." Trish's nose flares a bit in anger at the comment. _She's not wrong, though, _Trish shrugs, giving her shirt a quick sniff. But is that all? Does Etta and her group just wish to welcome the two of them with open arms, sustenance, and a place to sleep? If so – _why the secrecy?_

Perhaps they're limited on resources, and they don't want them out spreading the word about it? Would that mean they'd be required to _stay_ there? Trish has many questions, but the thought of being able to rest and refresh is far too compelling. Though still peculiar, she feels a little at ease. Surely, if they were going to give them provisions, they did not want to do them any harm. Maybe they would simply ask for a trade of some sort, like fighting off creepers and stalkers in return for food. Though things still do not completely add up, Trish retreats back to Dez, who patiently awaits her in the same spot.

"_There_ you are. I was getting worried. Find out anything, Nancy Drew?" he teases, wrapping an arm around her shoulders casually as she reaches him. "Some more dangerous chemicals, maybe? Or is she hiding a giant bazooka under that tiny lab coat? Like out of a cartoon?" He laughs.

"You're enjoying this too much." She shakes her head at him.

"Hey, I need _something_ to entertain me with. _I-Spy_ is kind of boring out here. Not much to see." He pulls her closer. "But, for realsies, _did you find out anything?_" Joking aside, he actually sounds as if he's taking her seriously.

"She has a walkie-talkie," Trish starts, and Dez's brows rise. "She was talking to somebody over it. Probably someone at this lab of hers."

"Well…_That's_ certainly not _'using the bushes'._" He looks skeptical. _Finally_, Trish breathes out heavily, relieved that he's starting to see what she sees. "So, what she say?"

"Well, that's the weird part. She was telling them to _ready the provisions_, cause we're tired and hungry. It's like they're planning a welcoming party for us." She shrugs. "But if that's the case, why is she being so hush-hush about it? If they just wanna help us out, why didn't she just tell us up-front?"

"Maybe it's a surprise party!" Dez perks up, throwing out his jazz hands for emphasis, which Trish immediately pulls down.

"Dez – it's _not_ gonna be a surprise party, you doof," she assures him, finding it difficult not to giggle at his pout. "I really don't get what's going on…I mean, it's strange, but it doesn't feel like they're up to no-good."

"You're just letting your worries get the best of you," Dez infers, his fingertips positioned against each other, pointed towards her. Trish nods slightly, tilting her head as she thinks it over a moment.

"Possibly." She exhales sharply, still not entirely convinced. Dez seizes this quiet moment, and leans in to kiss her. She responds right away, savoring the short, but sweet connection. He starts backing up, and she gives him a puzzled look.

"I'll be right back, _I gotta pee!_" he announces, turning around and rushing off towards the brush.

"_How romantic._" Trish jests, rolling her eyes at him before letting some light laughter escape. She pauses for a beat, watching him disappear into the tall shrubbery. She calls after him again, "Stay close, and _be careful!_"

* * *

After finishing up, as well as some conflict with a stuck zipper, Dez starts back towards the main road, trying to keep as quiet as possible. It's likely that he wouldn't be alone amongst these shrubs, creepers could come out of nowhere and his survival would depend on hearing them coming so that he can make a run for it in the opposite direction. He freezes, hearing the crunching of leaves nearby. They are not draggy or erratic. He can tell they're human.

Voices.

He identifies one of them as Etta. _She's still out here?_, he wonders, tip-toeing stealthily towards the sound to get a better listen. The other voice had a static sound about it, which he deduces is from her walkie-talkie.

"They're _prime_ specimens," Etta argues, as if she's trying to convince the person on the other side. Dez's brows meet, hearing her words. _Specimens?_ The blonde woman finally comes into sight. Dez remains hidden, staying as still as he possibly can, which is never easy for him.

"They're both young…I'd say about eighteen to twenty-two range. Fresh out of high school probably. I think they'd make great subjects." She looks about herself, as if she's got a secret to hide, and Dez ducks, hoping he hadn't been spotted. He sighs softly, hearing her continue.

"Ready the tests. We'll be arriving shortly." The static-coated voice coming out seems angry, saying something about being late. Etta purses her lips, seeming annoyed. "_Be patient._ _You're_ the one who dropped me off so far away. It's quite the walk. Though, I suppose, it was helpful. The short one's still hasn't warmed up to me, but I think I'm growing on the tall one."

Dez, now with a sinking feeling in his chest, rushes off, forgetting to be completely quiet. He's heard plenty. Though, there's always room for error. It could all still be something completely innocent, right? _Tests._ Perhaps just physical exams? Like a check-up, to make sure they're in good health? But what did she mean by _drop-off?_ If she was out looking for people to help, why would she tell them that she's been left behind? It all doesn't sit right for him, but he wants more than anything to believe that they're good people. Not everyone they meet must be menaces, right?

Perhaps that's just his desperate need for human interaction talking. Trish does suffice, but the prospect of being able to talk to more intrigues him. Maybe he might even introduce her to them as his _girlfriend._ He smiles at the thought. It's not like they've talked about this. Granted, there was never really a good time.

He spots Trish on the road and makes his way over to her. She taps her foot, impatient arms crossed over her chest.

"Have you been hogging all the water? Cause that was one _long_ bathroom break," she badgers him. "_Where have you been?!_ I was getting worried!"

"Okay, first of all, _you're_ the one who's been hogging most of the water. Second, I had a little situation with my zipper, it got caught–"

"–Yeah, I don't wanna know," Trish interrupts, eyes wincing and nose scrunching. As bad as she feels for the boy, this sort of thing happens to him all too often, and she's growing tired of hearing about it.

"_Anyway_, I overheard Etta on her walkie." Trish's eyes widen.

"So she's still out there talking? I was wondering why she didn't come back yet." She moves closer towards him. "What did she say?" she asks in a whisper, just in case the woman would suddenly show.

"She said something about us being…Prime specimens 'cause we're young…" he scratches his head as he tries to recall all of the important information. "…and that there's tests they need to get ready. Also, she wasn't _left behind_ by her group, they _dropped her off_ back there." He bites down on his lip, worry growing as he reads Trish's reaction. A mixture of horror and I-told-you-so written all over her face.

"_I knew it!_" She points her finger at him. "I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" she chants, though more anxious than victorious. "I mean, there were already so many off things about her, but this takes the cake. _Specimens?_ _Tests?_ Dez – don't you see what they want us for? We're just lab rats to them! For this _'cure'_ they're working on, maybe."

"You don't know that _for_ _sure._ She could've just been teasingly calling us specimens," he attempts to reason, though feeling like he's mostly trying to convince himself. "Like, maybe she wants us to hook up with her buddies or something, and thinks we're _prime specimens _for them?"

"That's just about the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Trish shoots his theory down, point blank. "And what about the tests?"

"She could just mean physical exams to see if we're okay."

"Dez, _doesn't that sound like a real stretch to you?_"

"_You're_ telling _me?_ You're the one who thinks she wants to use us like lab rats." She gestures a downward motion with her hands, telling him to keep quiet, as his voice had begun escalating. Just in time, too, as a rustle in the bushes announces Etta's return.

"Sorry about the delay," she apologizes as she approaches the now very skeptical couple. She brushes small twigs off her coat and pulls down her rolled-up sleeves. "A little bit of tummy trouble. Gotta be careful with the food you find out here."

"True," Trish begins, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Shall we keep going then?" Etta gives her a funny look, but submits.

"Yes, of course," she gestures for Trish to walk ahead of her. "It's just right up ahead." Trish gives her a nod, and continues forward – mentally conspiring some sort of plan to tackle this. Dez follows close behind her, now more wary, but still not entirely certain. Putting aside the strangeness, Etta just does not read as a horrible person to him. He's usually able to see that in people – _the good. _Although, he _does_ at times give people more credit than they're worth, but never to such an extreme level.

The three of them march on. A large group of buildings, with what looks like a satellite placed above one of them, is now visible in the distance. On the side of the building, a logo that resembled a familiar-looking purple lightening bolt.

* * *

Now _this,_ they hadn't seen coming. The landscape the road was paved over had hidden it well, beyond a bit of an incline. The hill hid a ditch that, if they were travelling by car, they would have fallen right into. They might've even fallen in on foot, if they hadn't heard the sounds emanating from within.

Dez and Trish watch in horror as the decaying bodies topple over one another, trying to escape with little success. Several cars had driven into it, and the fallen given no way out – they probably were easy prey to the infected. Of course, these particular types of creepers weren't the wall-scaling kind. They're stuck. Judging by their looks, likely have been for a while.

"This sinkhole's been around for about a month or so," Etta speaks up. "We know to drive around it, but we should probably put up a sign, huh?" Dez nods, his line of sight never leaving the rotting face staring right back up at him.

"So, we'll walk around it then?" Trish takes Dez's hand, squeezing it to comfort him upon reading his expression. He returns the squeeze, finally managing to peel his gaze away and look over at the blonde.

"Alright, then let's–," before he can begin, he feels Trish pulling him backwards, away from the crater, and from Etta. He looks back at her, jolted by the sudden movement. Dread coats her face as she watches the woman.

"Trish? Trish, _what is it?_" Dez tries to stop her from moving them further. Etta tilts her head.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"This isn't a sinkhole," Trish utters, barely audible.

"_Excuse me?_"

"This isn't a sinkhole – it was _dug_," the dark-haired girl reiterates, gripping Dez's hand tighter. "Sinkholes don't look this clean. I see the marks. This was _dug._" She gives the woman a hard look. "But you know that, _don't you?_"

"Look, Miss, we're wasting time. It's nearly sunset, and things get deadly when it's dark out. I'm sure _you_ know that." She marches over to them, forcefully grabbing Trish by the arm and pulling her onward. "Don't be foolish, Miss."

Trish releases Dez's hand, and uses all the force she can manage to pull away. The woman's got a vice-like grip on her, however. _That,_ Trish wouldn't have guessed. Dez tails behind, apprehensive from being near the crater.

"Trish, she's right," Dez tries. "It's not safe out here in the open. We need shelter." She ignores the boy's pleas and continues to interrogate the woman.

"_Let me go!_ I'm not gonna be your little test monkey! _Do you even know what you're doing?_" Trish manages to slip out of Etta's grasp, though painfully. She feels a bruise coming in. She backs up, all too aware of how close they are to the edge of the pit. Etta says nothing, but stares back at her. The blonde's once warm, gentle eyes now stone-cold. _If only Dez could see what she sees in this woman._

After such stillness, Etta's sudden rush towards the two of them comes as a surprise. Dez shifts backwards in alarm, but not Trish.

Adrenaline coursing, brain wracked with paranoia – her sense of reason has been left for dead. As the woman draws just close enough, Trish reacts immediately.

One shove is all it takes.

The woman's screams echo through the air as she falls into the pit, hungry eyes below watching her descent.

"_Etta!_" Dez cries out, falling to his knees right next to the pit. He sees the horde immediately swarming over her. Before he can even _think_ to find something to help pull her out, it's already too late. The creepers strip her apart like vultures. The only thing louder than her shrieks is all of the red. They are bathed in it.

It takes Trish a few moments to realize what she's just done – for her senses to finally catch up to her. For her to breathe.

Her gut instincts had won this time. She had let it happen, sure, but she wasn't prepared for the amount of remorse she now feels. Especially when she looks up to find Dez giving her a look that rivaled Etta's steely gaze. She feels her stomach drop. A moment of silence ensues as the boy stares her down.

"D-Dez, I–I mean, sh-she was…" Struggling to find her words under such situation, she starts to shake as he stands himself up.

"You killed her." He tightens his lips. "She wanted to help us, and you killed her."

"She was n-not–," she starts to argue, weakly. Dez interrupts, not wanting to hear any of it.

"_It doesn't matter what she wanted to do with us later._ She _wasn't_ trying to kill you." His firm tone of voice doesn't waver for a good few moments. "_You didn't have to do this._ There c-could've been _another way,_ Trish." His resolve breaks down, and he feels himself weaken, struggling to stand. He cannot swallow it. He cannot even _chew_ on the idea. Someone he's so close to…A murderer? _Trish?_ _A murderer?_ His mind spinning, he collapses onto his knees.

"_Dez!_" She hurries over to tend to him, but he shifts backwards, crawling away. She looks up at him in a daze. _Is he scared of her?_ She moves towards him again, and yet again he backs away, bringing his legs in close to his body.

"_Stay away from me._ J-just _stay away_!" He holds out his hands, turning his head. He cannot face her. Not after this.

She feels a rush of cold sink into her, slicing through her body. An ache in her chest. _Is he really saying this?_

"Dez, I-I-I didn't…It just…It just happened, _I was trying to protect y–,_" she tries again, her voice shaking.

"–_Go away!_" the boy cries out, tears welling up in his eyes. "Just…Just go." He tucks his head in behind his knees as he begins to sob, the heaviness of it all eating him alive. He remains like this for a good while, the sounds of his sobs drowning out the creepers' gasps and growls in the pit.

It isn't until he lifts his head back up to find the girl missing from his sight that he starts to harbor his own regrets.

_Why must he be so dramatic?_


	12. Cries

The pounding of his strides against the asphalt could only be paralleled by the beat of his heart. Utter terror is great for cardio.

Disregarding most of what's around him, he runs. The gasps and snarls of creepers and stalkers he'd caught the attention of along the way, the unattended vehicles possibly stocked up with supplies, his lungs ready to explode from the exertion – all ignored. He runs, mind one-track.

_Finding her._ That's _all_ that matters.

"_Trish!_" He cries her name out repeatedly. "_Triiiiiish!_" Over and over until he could no longer hear the sound of his own voice. Being someone with such short legs, _how far could she have gone?_ He's certain she'd gone this way. The small trail of breadcrumbs she left were the only thing he'd been paying attention to. The dainty footprints she left in muddier parts of the road, the water canteen he's positive is hers…The fresh blood. Which is what ultimately drove him to a sprint. He isn't certain if it's hers, but that does nothing to calm him.

She could be out there. _Bleeding. Injured._

And it would be on _him._

Why couldn't he have just reprimanded her? Sending her away, to face this world by herself…_He might as well have killed her himself._ He shakes off the thought. _She's strong, resilient – she's got this_, he reminds himself. She's the reason he's still alive, after all. He owes her nothing short of everything.

"_Trish…_" he tries again, his strained voice barely making a sound. His legs sore, and his chest aching, his body finally seizes control from his mind, and he falls to his knees. Ignoring the pain in his joints from the landing, he slips his water bottle out of the side pocket of his backpack and downs a few gulps. "_Trish…_" he repeats, setting the bottle down beside him. "_Tri-_" He moves onto his hands and knees and vomits. There goes some of his water supply.

Getting himself up off the ground is no easy feat; legs shaking, back aching. He wipes his mouth, picking up his bottle and sliding it back into its designated pocket. He winces, focusing his sight down the long, empty road ahead of him. _No sign of her._ Perhaps the trail she left was meant to be a distraction; to mislead him? Would she have had the time to purposely lead him astray? Not a minute after discovering her disappearance had he hesitated. Had he sat their sobbing for that long?

Though his pursuit of her had given him the time he needed to process. It gave him a chance to reflect on what the girl had done. Everything happened so fast at the time, he wasn't quite sure how to react – hadn't even _begun_ to sort it out. And he pushed her away.

Self-defense; Trish was protecting them both. The darkness in Etta's eyes resurfaces in his memory. The way she honed in on them. The way she approached Trish, as if one of the dead – starving for her flesh. Why had he been so ready to push his friend away? His fear was what had drove him to protect her – yet that fear came back around to seek protection _from_ her. As if she would ever hurt him.

"_Damn it!_" he shrieks through gritted teeth, clenched fists tightening to the point his nails dig into his palms. He slams them down onto the asphalt, wincing and whimpering from the throbbing. He wipes his watering eyes. No time to wallow in regret. He steadily picks himself up again, experiencing vertigo from the torrent of emotion, as well as the overexertion.

A few hours had passed in his search, and although he had welcomed the cool of the night after sundown, he knows that he can't continue wandering about in the open after dark. Though he hasn't a choice.

* * *

"_Dez._" His name on her lips first thing in the morning. She stirs in her sleep, wakening to the raspy melody of the dead. What she _doesn't_ hear is his steady heartbeat. She was so certain he'd been there by her side – or was it all a dream? Had she not fallen asleep, curling up against his chest? Had he not lulled her as he played with her curls?

She hoists herself up, the bleak start to her day weighing her down. Her body begs her to collapse, but she knows she cannot afford to let herself rest too long. Not with death lurking about her, ready to take her soul at any given moment. Not when there's supplies to gather and spiked fences to build.

Despite all that she knows she must get done, her mind wanders to the boy she had left behind. He's out there, alone, with minimal protection. What reason does she have to even believe he's alive? He counted on her. He counted on her, and she let him down. Regardless of what he'd said, she should have stayed. _That's what a true friend would have done._ The hurt she'd felt, feeling betrayed by him for not understanding why she did what she had done, did not warrant a death sentence on him.

With a flip of her hair over her shoulder, she pulls herself together. She ties her curls up loosely with a scrunchie, slipping her machete out from underneath the pillows. She would have been lucky to find any shelter at all – but an abandoned cabin is far more promising. Clearing it out had been easy enough, as the creepers within had lost some appendages already. Keeping others from coming in will prove trickier.

Spiked fences, barricades of sharpened logs, are something she picked up from watching one too many zombie-related shows. Surely they're prove to be useful in her situation. However, some of the ones she's seen herself were far craftier than anything she's watched on screen, and others too large to let anything get in their way. Spiked fences cannot hold them _all _off. But it's a start.

Already having begun, after taking down a few small trees in the vicinity with the axe she found on the property, the beginnings of the fence look promising. Though only two spikes set in thus far, she's getting the hang of it, sharpening the next one even quicker. Though not exactly the best tool for the job, her machete gets it done.

A few low growls puts her on alert. Apparently she hadn't cleared the area as much as she thought she had. She was hoping that the scent of the decaying bodies of creepers she had taken care of earlier would mask her own scent. Apparently there aren't quite enough piled up yet to do so.

The tiny invader peeks its head out from behind the bushes, then makes its way towards the armed girl. Trish's jaw falls, machete slipping out of her hand from the gut-wrenching sight.

_A child._

"_No…_" she whimpers. Thus far, she hadn't seen a single infected child. A few older teenagers, sure – that alone was difficult enough to deal with. She had hoped this meant that children were somehow immune, or that the dead did not pursue them for whatever reason. She makes not a single move as the little one approaches her, foot dragging behind it, its wispy greyish-blonde locks hanging loosely from its scalp. "_No..._" Trish bites her lip, tears already spilling over and running down her cheeks. She can't kill a child. _She can't._

The tiny hands wrap around her arms, and Trish holds the little one away, keeping it at bay. The small jaws snap in her direction, arms now flailing. Her tears do not cease as she picks up her machete with one hand. The tiny little creature continuous to snarl as Trish raises the weapon in the air above its head.

* * *

"Austin, _hold on!_" Ally demands the blond, setting her hand on the wheel.

"That's enough stops! At this rate, we'll _never_ make it to Miami!" he whines, putting the truck in park, all the same. "It's supposed to only be three hours away from Orlando, but we've been on the road for what? A week now? All because of these detours and stops. We need to get _home,_ Ally." The girl gives the boy a stern look before continuing.

"Austin, there's someone lying on the road there, _look!_" She points at the figure, a good five hundred yards ahead of them.

"Maybe it's a zombie."

"Or maybe it's a _person._"

"Okay, but what if they're a person that's' dead already?" Austin shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "We've seen enough living dead. I don't wanna see any non-infected people dead, too."

"We should at least check it out. Maybe they're a person, _and if they're alive and need help–_"

"–_And if we don't help them…_" he trails off, staring at the steering wheel for a good few moments. He turns to her, gives her a nod, then clicks open his seat belt.

The two make their way towards the body, being mindful of the creepers headed in their direction, likely attracted by the easy feast laying on the side of the road. As they get closer, their paces slow, the figure lying on the ground looking more and more familiar. Austin squints his eyes at the body, now only a few yards away. "_No…_"

"Oh, _my God…_" Ally's eyes now gaping wide open, knees buckling as she identifies the form.

"_Dez!_" Austin cries out, now sprinting towards the body, Ally trailing closely behind him. He turns the redhead onto his back, relieved at the lack of bite marks and blood. He hadn't been bitten. The slight rising and falling of his chest gives the blond immense relief. Still, this is not quite the reunion he'd hoped for. He gives the boy a shake, and two slaps across the face. No use. "Ally, h-he's alive. Get some water! _Quick!_"

Ally, still shaken, wordlessly obliges and heads back over to the truck – relieved isn't even _close_ to a good enough word for how she feels. They had found one of their friends. They had found him barely holding on, but still alive. The worst-case scenarios that had been bubbling up in her mind hadn't come true. At least…Not in _Dez's_ case. She returns with a few bottles. Austin proceeds to douse Dez's face with the water, the boy finally opening his eyes, letting out a yelp as he awakens.

"_Wha-!_" He sputters, some of the water spilling into his mouth and going down his windpipe. Laying him on his side, Austin gives him a few pats on the back. The boy coughs up some more water.

"Dez…_Dez you're alive…_" the blond whispers to him, pulling him up by the shoulders into a sitting position. Ally sits herself down beside them, taking note of the signs of malnutrition on the redhead's face. The dark circles around his eyes, the redness at the corners of his nose and mouth. The cracked, flaky lips. She winces, finding the sight difficult to bear.

"Dez, we were so worried," Ally speaks up next, gripping onto Austin's shoulder and giving it a squeeze as if wanting to check and make sure that this is all real. She had dreamt of them reuniting, several times, only to wake up to another excruciatingly long day of worry.

"Tri…Trish…Trish…" Dez utters repeatedly, his breathing erratic. "_Trish…_" It's apparent to the couple that he isn't entirely in his senses.

"_Dez?_" Austin tries again. The sickly boy doesn't even lift his gaze to face him. He continues chanting the girl's name, as if in a trance. A symphony of snarls heading their direction starts building.

"Let's uh…Take this reunion back to the truck…" Ally offers, wary. Giving his girlfriend a nod, Austin lifts the other boy, proceeding to carry him to the truck. The weight difference is noticeable. Austin had carried Dez plenty times before – it now felt like he was carrying a twelve-year-old. His grip on Dez tightens, as if frustrated – furious. Angered at the world, and at himself for not being there with his best bud. _If they had found him a moment too late…_

It's something he'd rather not think about it.

Ally takes notice of his aggravation and joins him, taking hold of his arm. The small gesture is all he needs to calm himself.

* * *

They aren't stupid.

They knew very well the chances of finding either of their friends – _alive_ – in this mess was slim. Yet, by the grace of what ever higher power that could possibly exist, they had found their friend. Barely clinging on, but _alive_ – mere _minutes _from the jaws of death – be it dehydration, exhaustion, or walking corpses.

After giving him the enough provisions and care, they had let the boy rest up for a good while. Soon enough, the redhead's strength had – at least partially – returned to him. Cue proper, emotional reunion. Tears a-plenty and tales exchanged – they now had each other. All is not lost, _yet…_

"So…She just…Ran away…" Austin repeats after his friend, his relief from finding Dez sullied by the news regarding Trish. "You told her to go, so she left. And now you can't find her…" He continues repeating, as if trying to piece the situation together in his mind.

"…_I know, I know. _I wasn't thinking clearly, o-_okay?_ Sh-she killed that woman – just like that, just _killed_ her. Pushed her in a pit full of them – full of infected. I-I know why she felt she had to do it, but I just…I wasn't _thinking,_ I was upset and scared, and I…" He plants his face in his hands, his strained and muffled sobs heard through them.

Ally sits idly in the passenger seat of the truck, staring off at the sky through her window – not another word spoken. Austin observes her, knowing to a great extent what his girlfriend must be feeling, as he can relate. But this is her _best _friend. The girl Ally grew up with, who had been with her through everything,to the moon and back_._ Knowing Trish is out there…_Alone…_Unsure of whether or not she was able to make it…

"We'll find her," the blond reassures the both of them. "Whatever we have to do…No matter how long it takes, we _will _find her." He reaches a hand out and rests it on Ally's shoulder, the other hand settling on Dez's. "_I promise._" Ally rests her hand atop his, giving her boyfriend a feeble, but thankful smile. Her watery eyes reflect her pain, though they continue to glisten with hope. Dez, however, shrugs off Austin's hand, removing his own from his tear-streaked face.

"This is _my_ fault. _I _have to find her. You two should keep heading home," he asserts, tears now falling silently. "When you get there, head to my place. My dad has an underground shelter with plenty of water and tuna. It's in the backyard, you'll be safe there."

"Stop _saying_ that!" Austin shouts back, his level of exasperation rising to its maximum capacity. "_We are not leaving you alone, Dez!_ We'll find her _together_ – and we_ will_ find her. _None_ of us are going home without her. And we're _definitely_ not going back without _you._"

"Besides," Ally butts in. "Wouldn't it be better if more of us are looking for her? We can cover more ground that way." As reasonable as the two sound, Dez remains obstinate. Everything they say makes sense, but the weight of his guilt blurs his sensibility.

"_I lost her…" _His voices starts quavering again. "She had my back, she was there for me the whole time, _through every damn thing_ – not just with the infected or those meathead mercenaries, but _everything._" He licks his chapped lips, eyes concentrated on his hands as the memories of their travels floods his thoughts. "She kept me together, she kept me _sane._ The only reason I've lasted this long is cause of her. I would've just let those creatures take me by now if it wasn't for her." Austin and Ally glance at each other, exchanging looks of worry coupled with horror. The red haired boy's tone suggests not a hint of exaggeration. "I lost her…She protected me – hell, she nearly let herself get _killed_ just to protect me. And I lost her."

"_Dez…_" At this point, all that could be said had been said. All Ally can do is offer him some comfort. She sets herself down by his side, wrapping her arms around the boy. Austin follows suit, taking the both of them in his arms from the other side. Dez sits idly between them, staring at the floor of the truck before him as he focuses his thoughts and pulls himself together. _Snap out of it, you doof!_ The fiery girl's words still ring in his ears. He shifts around, causing his to friends to release him from their hold.

"Okay, okay, _enough hugging already!_" He lifts himself up and slips into the driver's seat of the vehicle. "_Let's go find our Trish._"

* * *

"He's such a doof, _y'know?_"

Snarls.

"I can't believe that – after _all _we've been through – he _still_ doesn't trust me. I did what I had to do – for us, for _him._ Whatever I've done throughout this whole ordeal was done to protect _him _– and _this_ is how he repays me?"

Growls.

"I know, I know. I mean, I _did_…Sort of…Kill someone." She rakes her fingers through her matted curls, struggling to get them to smoothly glide through amongst the tangles.

"But she was going to do far worse than kill us. _I'm sure of it…_Whatever she wanted to do with us, it wasn't any good. It _couldn't_ be." She glides her fingers gently down through the little creature's wisps of hair. It attempts to take a bite out of her hand, but she restrains it with her other one. The thin ropes around its arms and legs may loosen soon enough with all of its struggling. She'd have to find something stronger.

"Easy there, easy," her gentle tone and strokes somehow mellow the young creature. "I was just protecting him. That's all I wanted. I just wanted him to be safe. _Why couldn't he see that?_" Her lower lip had bloodied from excessive nervous biting and peeling. "I-I'm not a murderer – _I'm not._" The trembling of her voice maintains that she believes otherwise. "I'm not a killer, I'm a good friend. I'm not, I'm not a killer. I'm…I'm not." Her breathing picks up pace. "I'm not…I'm not a killer, _I'm not._"

The creature's snarls amplify – as if calling out _'Liar!'_

"_I'm not!_" She lets out a shrill cry, machete suddenly at home in her hand, once again. The creature's volume rises with her own. Mid-shriek, the sound is silenced by the edge of her blade. The little one's head falls beside her feet – her machete soon dropping by it as her hands move to cover her mouth. She rubs them over her face, letting herself breathe slow, shaky breaths.

Blood. She had seen plenty of it. Much of it was on her hands. Though up until recently, none of it from a non-infected. None from anything she'd consider human. She's not sure whether or not she should even label Etta that, with what she was planning to do to them. No. She wasn't human. She has to believe that she wasn't. _She didn't take a life, she saved two._ Repeating these words to herself does little to mitigate her conscience.

She remembers his face. The expression the boy wore. Sheer terror, as if he assumed she was lusting for _his _blood. As if she was no longer anyone he knew – or anything he knew. As if he didn't want to _know_ her, let alone be anywhere _near_ her. _As if she was no longer his._

She examines the small, decaying form before her. Its decomposing flesh had already attracted a small swarm of flies. Its eyes stare back up at her, frozen – _warning her._ She nudges the lifeless body with the tip of her shoe; no response. She shakes her head clear.

There's no warning. There's no message being sent from beyond. It wasn't a child. It was an infected. It was a creature. _Nothing more._

"I'm not a killer…_I'm not._"


	13. Humanize

_It's for the best,_ she reminds herself over and over again. Every outcry, every desire to run into those arms and beg to be taken back, every burning ache in her heart – extinguished by her reasoning. _It's for the best. It's for the best. It's for the best._

Trish stares up at the wooden ceiling of the place she's called home these past…_Has it been three weeks? Four?_ She's lost count of the days, often staying up late and sleeping into the afternoon. Not that it matters much to her anymore – time is no longer of much relevance. She _lives, _no longer just surviving - her fear of the creatures pushed aside by a fear much greater.

The throaty growls serenading her throughout each day have become somewhat calming. In a way, they're her protection. Turning the threat into her shield, she managed to take her circumstance by the reigns. She climbed until she found herself back on top of the food chain – in control. At least for the most part.

Of course, she needed to hack off many a limb and unhinge dozens of jaws in order to attain this power. The pained gasps and guttural noises surround her, the stench of the chained-up creepers masking her own - keeping the others at bay. If one is to somehow get past them, she'd add them to her ever-growing collection.

_Collection._ She frowns. She's not quite sure what they are anymore, but they aren't _hers. _They certainly aren't people – not _anymore_. But they aren't her pets, or some kind of cattle. They aren't wild animals that can be tamed. She cannot afford to forget. She cannot afford to get comfortable.

Still, her concerns aren't centered on any of the undead. It's the living she fears. She prays no one would come around. For _their_ sake. For her own safety, she's not as concerned.

Her recent dreams had been vivid – concocting ideas in her mind that she could never imagine herself. Lives in her hands. The thirst for control – for power. The strange sense of elation from committing such terrible acts. She wakes often wondering if it's just her mind playing tricks on her or her inner urges clawing their way out. Either way, she cannot risk contact. Not with the blood on her hands already.

Though human beings and isolation don't quite mix. She finds ways to fill the void. Whether it's conversing with her growling hoard, or with the air. Pretending there's someone there to hear it all. Sometimes she feels like there really is.

"Shut up, you doof." She rolls her eyes as she fixes herself up in the vanity mirror, carefully applying some red lipstick the previous owner of the household had left behind, scrunching her hair product-coated curls. "Flattery won't get you anywhere." Her mind fills the silence around her with a reply, to which she laughs out in response.

* * *

"You won't be able to find her if you don't rest." Dez flinches as the brunette rests her hand on his shoulder. She quickly pulls her hand away. "You need to sleep."

"I'm not wasting any more time." He grips the wheel tighter, his adamancy relentless.

"_Dez–_" the blond starts, groggily. He hadn't gotten much rest either, watching over Dez as he drives the semi. Falling asleep at the wheel is not an option.

"–It's been too long, who _knows_ what could've happened to her by now?" the redhead interrupts, his bloodshot eyes unwavering from the road ahead of him. "Every day that passes without us finding her…" He trails off, not wanting to even entertain the idea.

"We _will_ find her. But you not sleeping isn't helping anyone." Austin pushes against Dez's side, hitting the breaks and forcing the truck into park. Dez doesn't retaliate; instead he rests his head on the blond's shoulder, drifting off into a much-needed slumber. The blond rubs his back, then hoists him up, carrying him into the cargo hold to lay down.

"We're not going to find her…_Are we? _Not the way we _want _to find her_,_" the brunette girl asks, solemnly, staring out the windshield as Austin takes the driver's seat next to her. Tears bead down her face – the rest of her, still as stone.

"_Ally_." Austin reaches over his hand and wipes away her tears. She remains still, eyes focused forward. "It's _Trish_. She's out there, alive. I'm _sure_ of it. You remember all the things Dez told us about how she protected them both? We _know_ how tough she is. She can't be far. She's out there, waiting for us." A smile pulls at her lips. Her boyfriend's always been such an optimist. His unwavering faith helped pull her out of her darkest hours, time and time again.

"I love you," she chokes out, throat still thick with tears. She leans over to give him a peck on the cheek. "Never change." The blond blushes, smiling down, bashfully, at his hands in his lap.

"I love you, too, Ally."

"As much as I love you both, can we _please _get moving? If I'm not driving, someone else has to!" Dez calls out to them from the back of the truck. He had only dozed off for a minute, his mind too wired to knock out completely.

"_Go to sleep, Dez,_" Ally orders him, her tone firm. He's reminded of his mother, a thought he pushes to the back of his mind immediately. Worrying about Trish is more than enough. His mother _has_ to be okay. She just has to be. So does his father and sister. Zombie shelter. They must be in the family zombie shelter. Thank goodness his father is so prepared.

The boy hadn't had a wink of sleep all week, and very little overall since they had found him lying by the side of the road. He had been fighting his body far too long. "You _know_ I can't do that," he finally responds. "What if–"

"–Dez, just _stop._" Ally's tone carries vehemence, holding back an overflowing dam behind her lower lid. She's sick of it all. Of this nightmare of their condition. Of worrying. Of hearing countless what-ifs regarding the life of someone she loves so much. She can't bear it. She'd rather pretend. Dez quiets himself. Austin pulls over to the side of road, and the other two gaze up at him with questioning eyes.

"Why did we stop?" the brunette and redhead speak up, nearly simultaneously. They glance at each other before looking back up at the blond. Austin wastes not a moment, and hops out of the vehicle, Dez and Ally following suit on the passenger's side.

"_Well?_" Dez asks again, hands out. Austin bends down, picking up a pair of tweezers. The redhead falls silent, taking it from the other boy to inspect it.

"You stopped for a pair of tweezers?" Ally rebukes him with a hard shove to his shoulder, her tears now breaking through. "_Tweezers?!_" The blond catches her hand before she could shove him again.

"Ally, calm down, I just…I just thought it could be a clue, that's all," he tries, folding his lips, a guilty look on his face. Ally relaxes, burying her face into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just…" She continues sobbing.

"I know, Als, I know." He wraps his arms around her little frame, rubbing her down her back.

"It's hers." The couple look over at their red-haired friend.

"W-what? How do you know?" Ally steps out of Austin's embrace, taking another look at the metal object.

"We found a pair of tweezers at that old factory and kept it. It had this same logo." He points at the little purple zigzag on the base.

"Are you sure? Cause there could be tons of those out there."

"I have to be. It's the only clue we've got." He gazes up at the trees in front of them. "Let's go." He pushes on forward into the trees without a second thought. Austin follows him without hesitance. Ally climbs back into the truck to grab her backpack and take the keys from the ignition, then follows behind them.

* * *

"No. Bad. _Bad zombie._" Trish speaks to the creature as if it was her pet dog. "Hold still for a second, will ya?" She finally manages to get the lasso around it - this one taking a bit longer than usual. She expected to find some tricksters eventually. They are but few, but they're out there. So far, she hasn't seen any brutes about, thankfully. She isn't quite sure how to deal with the larger ones, which could probably run right through the walls of the cottage.

She pins her captive to the ground, quick to tie the rope around it. She locks her hand onto its jaw firmly, before the creature can bite. The softened, rotting flesh and bones of some of the creatures made the task much easier for her. Others, _newborns _as she called them, still had yet to rot to that level, which meant that tools were necessary. Taking a deep breath, she pulls at the jaw, dislocating it in one swift movement, the creature howling in response. She pulls with more force, ripping the flesh along with it, until the jaw breaks free completely. She picks up her pair of pliers and proceeds with extracting all of the teeth left over on the top row, just to be safe.

She blows out a steady stream of air, wiping away the beads of sweat on her forehead with her arm, careful not to get too much blood – among other things – on it. She'll have to remove the creature's arms later. It'd been a long day - her already having done this to several other of the living corpses, all with varying bone strength. She tightens the rope around the struggling creature and secures it to a nearby tree before retreating towards the cottage. The sound of crunching leaves and snapping twigs puts her on edge. She clenches her fists, nervous, and carefully listens. No dragging, no scurrying - and what sounded like _conversation._ Not that she could make out the words.

_People._

Alarmed and unequipped to handle the situation, she flees into her new home, frantically looking about for a safe place to hide until they leave. _If _they leave. She recalls that the last time her heart raced like this was right before and right after the _Etta _situation. Never again does she want to feel like that. The memory of it all has been more than enough.

She decides on a closet at the back of the house, partially hidden behind some furniture. She takes a seat, hugging her knees close to her chest, trying to calm her breathing - trying to distract her mind. It always finds a way to go back to dwelling on her violent dreams - of her own violence. She wouldn't let the bloodlust take control. She wouldn't let her panic turn her into that monster again. She covers her face with her hands, which does little to stop her hyperventilating.

The moment she's been dreading arrives all too soon. _Of course_ they would check the cottage out if they see it. Anyone would, given the circumstances. Supplies, security, a roof over their heads. She prays that they wouldn't stay.

She overhears their conversation, significantly clearer now, but still somewhat inaudible. No doubt they were shocked by what they had seen before entering. At least a dozen growling creepers – armless, jawless, and toothless – chained up around the perimeter. She would be, too, had she been in their place. She hears their footsteps getting louder as they approach the room she's in. _Don't look in the closet. Don't look in the closet. Don't look in the closet,_ she mentally chants. They continue their conversations. _Their voices…So familiar. _Her eyes expand at the realization. She shakes her head.

No. It can't be. _It can't._ All _three_ of them – _together?_ What are the _odds?_

She wraps her arms around her body and holds herself, rocking gently. _I must be slipping_, she decides. It's been only – what? A _month_ in isolation? It cannot do _that_ much harm to her, _can it?_ She bites down on her lip, in an attempt to keep in any possible whimpers or other sounds.

If it _is _them – if it _is_ the impossible, and her three closest friends had somehow, against all odds, found each other in this nightmare, then it gives her all the more reason to stay hidden. _Sure, perhaps they'd be broken for a while, but they'll move on, right?_, she insists to herself. _Better for them to be broken than dead._ She stares down at her hands, the darkness surrounding her making it difficult to see them, but the sliver of light shining in from the cracks around the door are enough to outline them. Her hands, alone, are reminders of the damage they've done. She will not let herself be around anyone – _especially_ not those she loves. _What kind of friend would I be? To put them in that kind of danger?_

She jumps a little at the sudden shouting. It wasn't angry in tone, at least not entirely. It sounded frightened, frustrated – maybe even a bit forlorn. The loud, familiar voice continues as the other two familiar voices speak softly, trying to calm the other down. She could make out some words at this point. The voices soon become clear as crystal as she hears the footsteps enter the room. She slides back further into the closet, careful to not make any sounds as she does so. She hides herself among the hanging clothes. Her legs stay exposed.

The closet door opens, the tall redhead looking in quickly, amidst a heated conversation with his two friends, and slams the door closed. Trish quietly releases a held breath. _He didn't see me_.

It takes a few seconds for the image of what he'd seen in the closet to fully register in Dez's mind. He stops speaking mid-sentence, then turns back around to face the closed closet door, start to tremble. Trish holds in her breath, once again.

"Dez – _what is it?_" Austin inquires, worry building in his voice. _What could he have seen in there? _Ally grabs ahold of the blond's arm, bracing for what might be revealed. Dez takes a step towards the door, his quavering hand gripping onto the door knob, turning it slowly. He holds his breath as he steadily opens the door, his heart all but crashing to the ground as he recognizes the shoes. He falls to his knees, in despair, the shaking getting much worse. _It's her legs,_ he's certain.

_What about the rest of her?_ Dare he move the hanging clothes aside? Surely, if this is who he thinks it is, she'd have recognized their voices and revealed herself already, _right? _Or if she'd been asleep, he'd hear some kind of sound. Light snoring, exhales – _something._ The lack of any response at all had his chest feeling tight, his heart still soaring to the ground. This isn't how he wanted to find her. Austin and Ally peer in over his shoulder – and immediately wished they hadn't.

"_No…_" The brunette buries her face into the blond's chest, with him doing the same into her hair, holding her tightly. Dez, barely controlling his shaking, fresh tears spilling over his cheeks, and his breathing erratic, he bites down on his lower lip and braces himself as he moves the coats aside.

He's met with a sudden kick to the chest, sending him falling backwards onto his rear. The girl in the closet pushes past him, and past the embracing couple who, alarmed by the sudden action, pull apart promptly. The three in the room glance at each other for no more than a second then chase after the girl – their _friend._ Their friend that they had, just moments before, thought they'd lost forever. They aren't sure whether to feel relieved, or confused.

Dez and his long, limber legs manage to catch up, and he takes a dive on the girl, sending them both flying into some furniture. A couch, thankfully. He pins her down underneath him as he tries to catch his breath. Trish struggles to break free. She hadn't ever known him to use this much force.

"_Let me go!_" she demands with ferocity. Austin and Ally enter the room, hands over their mouths and noses, relief in their eyes. The redhead examines her, brows puckered.

"_Trish,_" he begins, slowly. "You're _alive._"

"_Let me go_," she repeats. She continues with her attempts to flee, squirming under him. His grip on her wrists is strong, and his legs remained locked on top of hers.

"Why are you running away? _Are you still mad at me?_" He feels his body weakening. He can only put up such strength for so long. She's always been stronger than he, and had much more endurance.

"_Let me go!_" she orders again. "_Let me go, let me go, let me go!_" she chants until she's in tears, herself. "_Please!_" He winces as he watches her break down underneath him. He can feel her body relaxing all tension, no longer fighting to break away. "_Please,_" she begs.

"_Trish._" He releases her wrists, moving his hands to grip her shoulders and sit her upright as he moves off of her. He slides his hands down her back and pulls her into his arms.

"You need to go. Or _I _need to go. _It's not safe,_" she urges him, her forehead now resting against his chest. "You all need to go. You need to. You _have_ to. You _can't_ stay." Austin and Ally glance at each other in worry – both wanting to embrace the girl, themselves, but completely taken aback by her words. _Not safe?_

"What the heck are you even saying? _Why?_" Dez pulls her away from himself only to face her, his eyes and cheeks now reddened from the previous tear-shedding. She can't bring herself to look.

"_It's not safe._"

"What? _What's _not safe?"

"Me. _I'm_ not safe." She pushes away from him. He remains befuddled.

"Don't you think you'd be safer _with_ all of us?" He scoots closer towards her.

"_You don't get it!_" Her sudden rise in volume sends him crawling right back. "_I'm_ not safe. _You're_ not safe with _me._ You all need to _leave!_" she cries, moving off of the couch.

"What?" Austin speaks up. "Trish, is this about that Etta lady?" Dez had informed them what went down, and from what they've heard, it sounded as if Trish left because she was angry at him for not believing her. This, on the other hand, is something else entirely.

"You did what you had to do," Ally attempts to reassure the girl as she walks towards her, offering her outstretched hand. Trish backs away.

"Please, Ally, I don't want to hurt you. _Please._ _Please go_." Her tone softens, now pleading. "You can't fix this. You can't fix _me._ I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt _any_ of you. I can't trust myself not to." She continues backing away. Dez stays alert to this.

"_I _trust you." Dez picks himself off of the couch and approaches her. "I'll never _not_ trust you." As much as Ally wishes to correct him on the double-negative, she stays quiet upon realizing how misplaced that would be in the situation. Old habits die hard, but perhaps that's a good thing. Austin moves to stand beside her.

"We _all_ trust you, Trish. What you did…It was self-defense," Austin tries to reason with her, his mind and body still trying to sort out everything that had just happened, everything he had just heard.

"_No, no, no, no, no…_" she continues backing up. "_You don't get it. You don't get it. You don't get it._" She cannot bring herself to explain. Explaining would take time. The more time she spends around them, the more nervous she gets. The more likely she could have another meltdown. The higher the chance of her rage and bloodlust consuming her. Inhibiting her control. And here they are – three of the people she cares about most. Here they are, between her and her potential warpath. _I can't do this to them. I won't._

She makes a swift turn, taking a stride towards the front door as a pair of arms wrap around her middle and pull her back. The same arms that had wrapped around her earlier. She's already spent in her struggle. She doesn't fight this time. Instead, she crumbles – falling down to her knees in hopeless anguish, her face wrapped up in her hands as heavy sobbing ensues.

Dez's arms remain around her; he kneels down and holds himself against her. He runs his fingers down through her hair, attempting comfort. He'd found her. Alive, yet broken. Breathing, but lost. Safe, and in pain. He blames himself. He nestles his face into her hair, holding her tighter, and tighter still.

The other couple look at each other again, the sight of it all so bizarre – it's _Dez and Trish_, after all – but heart-breaking. They figure they must have missed out on a lot more than what Dez had told them. They probably wouldn't have believed him if they hadn't seen this for themselves. The two lean on each other, their emotions flowing back and forth between anxiety and relief. But their friend is safe. _That's all that matters._

The chorus of snarls outside continue as the four friends remain still, quiet – outside of Trish's soft weeping. Dez stays on the floor with her, his arms securely fastened around her. It eats him up; the thought of her alone. The thought of her taking herself apart. She'd been alone for too long, especially when considering what happened prior. She had no one around to reassure her. To tell her what she'd done was not beyond what any other person would have done in her place.

To let her know _she's still human._

The undead creatures around them are monsters. Those mercenaries that had kidnapped them, _also_ monsters. Maybe even Etta and the people she worked with, if they'd been kidnapping and testing people under the guise of _"the greater good"_? Sure, _monsters._

Trish? _She's no monster._


	14. Rely

"Dez." She tries to push him away. "Stop coddling me."

"I'm _allowed_ to worry," he insists, moving aside on the couch to give her some space, but keeping a steady hand on her shoulder. "You're not okay," he tells her softly, his voice barely audible. His inhales and exhales are unsteady. "You're not okay, and that's _my_ fault."

"_I'm not getting into this with you again._" Her tone as built as stone, he retreats, unwilling to upset her further. He resolves to quietly sitting beside her, cross-legged on the couch, staring at his twiddling thumbs down in his lap. Feeling useless.

Austin watches the two of them sit in strained silence for a minute or so before he decides he cannot take it anymore. He makes his way over, pulling a confused Dez up by the arm and dragging him out of the room. Trish places her head in her hands, feeling a dizzy spell coming on. This isn't what she'd pictured happening. Though filled with relief knowing that the three of them had survived— that they're alive and at least _relatively_ well—she's wary. How long will she be able to keep in control? _How long before…?_

Her thoughts are interrupted as the chestnut-haired girl sets a bowl of oatmeal down in front of her.

"_Eat,_" Ally insists, taking a seat beside her, with her own bowl of oatmeal. "I'm not taking no for an answer. _Eat._" Trish had missed it—her best friend's motherly tone that rivaled her own mother's. It is firm and strict, but not without warmth and tenderness. A tone unique to her and her only. Trish takes a bite of her oatmeal.

"_Why,_ Trish? Why'd you run from us?" Ally asks her, requesting rather than demanding as she was before. She patiently waits for a response from her lifelong friend, her eyes filled with concern and apprehension. "Trish, you can talk to me. You can _always_ talk to me. I _love_ you. You _know_ that." Ally sets her bowl down on the table before them and scoots in closer to the other girl. "Please, Trish. _I'm worried._ Please tell me there's nothing for me to be worried about. _Please._" Her eyes on the brink of tears, her hands clasped around Trish's shoulders, she pleads.

Trish glances at her, straight in the eyes, for what couldn't have been more than a second. She wishes she hadn't. As her gaze returns to her oatmeal, the guilt eats at her. She cannot keep anything from Ally—at least, not for long_._ A few more moments of silence with the brunette staring her down is all it takes.

"I _told_ you. I'm not safe. You're not safe with me." More silence. Ally shifts backwards, releasing Trish's shoulders and taking pause before responding.

"That's not true. Self-defense doesn't make you a murderer, Trish. She could have killed you both."

"I didn't know that for sure. I killed her—_took her life._ Just like that. _When I wasn't even sure._" Trish shifts around uncomfortably in her seat, setting her bowl down next to Ally's on the coffee table.

"_You were scared!_"

"I was _impulsive. _I didn't think. I wasn't in control, Ally." She turns her head to look the other girl straight in the eyes. "Don't you see? Ally, I…I wasn't in control. I wasn't thinking. It just happened. _I lost control._"

"Trish—"

"—_No,_ Ally!" she stops her. "I don't lose control like that. That's not _me._ Sure, sometimes I have trouble dealing with problems head-on, but I don't lose control like that. I-I...I don't know what's wrong with me. And it's not just with Etta, I…" her gaze falls back down to her lap. Ally watches, listening in heavy silence. Her heart aching for her best friend.

"It's okay, Trish. With everything that's been going on, who can blame you? You were trying to survive. You were protecting yourself—you were protecting _Dez._"

"I'm scared, Ally. I don't want to lose control again. What if it happens with you guys? What if I can't control myself? _What if I hurt one of you?_" Tears in her eyes, she buries her face in her hands, releasing a pent-up sob. Ally glides her hand up and down her friend's back.

"You have to trust yourself, Trish. You're a good friend. You've always been there for all of us. Dez tells us you're the only reason he's still here." She reaches into Trish's curls and gently glides her fingers down through them. "_We_ trust you. You need to let_ yourself _trust you, too."

"But what if—"

"—_Trish._ There's _always_ going to be what-ifs. I'm barely pulling it together, myself. Who's to say _I_ won't lose control? Who's to say _any one of us_ won't?"

"_You_ didn't kill anyone, _did you?_" Trish challenges. Ally sighs.

"Well,_ no,_ but—"

"—I just..._I need some time._"

"_We're not leaving you,_" Ally affirms. "It's a miracle we even found you at all. We're not letting you go. Not now. Not _ever._ We _love_ you."

"I…" No longer any fight left in her, the dark-haired girl submits. "I love you guys, too."

"You're stuck with us..." Wrapping her arms around the shorter girl, Ally pulls her into her embrace. "...and we're gratefully stuck to you."

* * *

"She won't let me help her," Dez groans, dragging his hands down across his face. "She needs help. She needs comfort—but she won't even let me _near_ her."

"Give her some space, buddy. She's dealing with a lot right now. I mean, she took someone's life. Well, an _alive_ someone's life, anyway. We can try to reassure her it self-defense all we want, but it's still heavy. The rest of us never had to do that—_she_ _did._ Give her some time. She'll be okay," the blond tries all he can to soothe his friend. The redhead remains dissatisfied.

"How can she be okay if she won't let any of us be there for her? She's trying to isolate herself, Austin. She's already been alone for too long. How's giving her _more_ space gonna help her?" The pace of his breathing picks up quickly.

"Calm down, buddy," Austin insists.

"I _am_ calm!" he shouts out, causing a concerned Ally in the other room to respond.

"Everything okay, you guys?" she asks them, peeking her head into the room.

"Yes. Don't worry, Als, I have it under control," the blond reassures his girlfriend. She gives him an uncertain "okay" before ducking out, and he returns his attention to Dez. "Maybe you should focus on yourself for a while? Me and Ally are here to help with Trish now. You should get some rest while you can."

"I'm _fine._"

"_Now_ who's the one who won't accept any help, _hm?_" the blond teases, patting his friend's shoulder as the redhead rolls his eyes at him. "Seriously, man. We found you lying at the side of the road like roadkill. I don't...I don't _ever_ want to see you like that again. _Ever,_" he maintains, hardened in tone. The image of his friend lying there the way he had—it wouldn't leave his mind. "_Go rest._ Let me and Ally worry about Trish. You've done plenty worrying already."

"But—"

"—Dez!"

"Okay, okay,_ okay._" He exhales heavily. "I'll go take a nap or something. But you and Ally better hold up your end. Talk to her for me. Maybe she'll listen to you."

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"So Dez told me to talk to you," the boy states frankly, seating himself next to a sullen Trish.

"He's mad at me, isn't he?" She breathes out slowly, staring at the coffee table. "That's why he's not here, right? He's mad, and he doesn't want to talk to me."

"No, that's on me. I told him to rest." Puzzled by her answer, his brows scrunch together. "So...Do you want him here or not? Earlier you wanted him to stay away from you."

"Honestly? I don't know _what_ I want right now." She stares out the window at one of the limbless, jawless creatures she had chained up who had its face pressed up against the glass.

"Did you do all that?" The boy turns to match her line of sight.

"Hm?"

"Those creepers chained up outside. Did you find them like that, _or…?_"

"No. I did all that," she states matter-of-factly, her expression calm.

"Oh." He gulps, starting to put the pieces together. "You've...You've been taking it all out on them, huh?"

"Austin—"

"No, no, I get it. I mean, I can't say that I _approve._ But, I get it," Austin reassures her.

"It keeps the others away. It's defense; their scent masks mine. They can't smell me, they can't find me. That's all that is," she quickly explains. Of course, this is also how she's been explaining it all to _herself._

"But did it help?"

"What?" She looks at him.

"Did hacking their arms off help you deal with...everything that's happened?" He questions her with pleading, concerned eyes. The girl stays silent, her eyes moving off him and back to the window.

"I told you. I'm not safe to be around."

"It's not like you've lunged at any of us. Or hunted down other people. I think you're more in control than you believe, Trish."

"_I_ think...You should go help Ally make pancakes, I think I smell something burning," she sneers at him. He nods, raising his hands and getting up from the couch. "Just let us know if you need anything."

"Fine. Okay. Just...Just go." He obliges and leaves the room, just as his redheaded best friend enters.

"No. _No._ Out! I don't want to talk to you," the girl is quick to rebuke him. Undeterred, Dez walks over and pulls her up onto her feet by the arms. "What are you—?" she stops mid-sentence as he places his hands on her cheeks. She wants to fight it. She wants so badly to be able to fight it. But she wants it even more. Her arms wrap around his neck and she pulls him down closer towards her. She presses her lips hard against his—hating the feeling of her desperation, but reveling in the warmth. He kisses her with his every emotion. He kisses her, conveying his hurt, his determination—his worry. He holds her restrictively, as if hanging onto the edge of a cliff for dear life. He battles her push against him with his own against her, slanting his head, falling deeper and deeper…

The kiss doesn't last all that long, but it serves its purpose. It conveys its message. He finally releases her, after leaving one last peck on her upper lip. She looks up into his reddened eyes without a word.

"_Ahem._" The duo turn to a disconcerted Ally; awkwardness floods the room. Austin stands beside her with wide eyes, his mouth in mid-chew, and a half-eaten stack of pancakes on a plate in his hand, threatening to topple over. Trish steps away from Dez, abashed, her eyes drifting away from the eyes fixated on her and her swollen lips.

"I'm going to go take a nap," she states briskly, rushing herself out of the tension-lit room. Austin and Ally watch her leave, wordlessly, then turn to Dez, an abundance of questions in their eyes. He had told them about his travels with Trish, but now they're certain that he must've omitted some particularly _crucial_ details.

"So, are you going to tell us what that was all about, _or…?_" Ally is the first to speak.

"Oh, I, uh..._That?_ Yeah, we do that now." Uncomfortable, he shifts his weight from one leg to another, rubbing his right arm as he avoids any eye contact with the couple.

"So, are you two a thing now?" Austin asks, setting his plate down on the coffee table as he couldn't trust himself to keep calm enough not to spill it.

"We haven't really discussed that. I guess we're just...Okay, so _we kiss._ We're friends who..._Kiss on occasion._" He gathers the nerve to look up at them, noting the tenderness on their faces, rather than the appall that he'd expected. Though he does notice a flash of darkness in Ally's eyes for not more than a second. She purses her lips.

"Dez, this better not be you using her just cause she's the only person you've been around. Unless, of course, you have a _mutual_ understanding?"

"Ally—" Austin tries to stop her, noticing the hurt look upon his best friend's face.

"_No,_ Austin! I care too much about her to let this go. She's had her heart broken too many times before, and I'm _not _letting that happen again!" The brunette remains adamant, but one look in Austin's warm, hazel eyes is enough to cool her down. She breathes out, then turns to Dez again, with tightened lips. "If you hurt her, _I will destroy you._" Dez smiles.

"I know." He runs his hand through his greasy hair. "C'mon. I'm more protective of her than you are. You should know that by now." Ally scoffs, but smiles back at him.

"Sure, okay," she relaxes, Austin's hands squeezing her shoulders being of help.

"Welp. I'm gonna go take my first shower in…" He pauses to check a non-existent watch on his wrist, as if the time on a watch would help him recall. "…I really have no idea how long it's been." He looks to Austin. "Save some pancakes for me?"

"Of course, bud," the blond grins, rejoicing inside; his friend is actually willing to eat. They'd tried to coax him into eating earlier, to no merit. Perhaps the knowledge that Trish is safe had ultimately been the thing that brought his appetite back? "Go get cleaned up. I didn't want to say anything before, but you smell _really_ bad." Dez laughs out in response as he starts down the hallway.

* * *

Trish is awakened by cool drops splashing onto her face, gliding down her cheeks. Her eyes open and she sees him sitting there, monitoring over her. His auburn hair damp, and wearing only a towel tied around his waist. He frowns.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He sweeps his wet hair back upon noticing the droplets of water falling onto her face. He shifts back a little as she sits herself up on the bed. "You have a good nap?"

"Yeah," she replies softly, wiping the water off of her face. "You better not have used the rest of my conditioner." He smiles.

"I didn't use all of it," he assures her. "But I can't make any promises for Austin. He's in the shower now and you _know_ how he is with conditioning his hair." She nods, donning a smirk at the thought.

"So. What's your plan?"

"Plan?" His brows pucker together.

"Yes. Your plan to get to Miami."

"You mean _our_ plan. If you think we're leaving without you—"

"—I didn't mean it like that." She sighs. "I...I _am_ going with you guys."

"_Aw,_ how cute." He boops her on the nose playfully. "You think you have a choice." She grumbles inaudibly. "Seriously, Trish, if you refuse, we'll probably chain you up and take you with us anyway."

"That may not be such a bad idea." She pulls her legs in towards her body. "It'll keep you all safe." He shakes his head, dropping his smile.

"You need to stop thinking like that. You _are_ in control, Trish. You're not going to even _attempt_ to hurt any of us. I _know_ you aren't. That's not you."

"I haven't been feeling like myself lately, Dez."

"None of us have. For _pretty_ good reasons, too."

"I feel like...I feel like I'm not even in my own body. I feel like I'm just watching it all go on, like some kind of lucid dream. It all feels so..._Surreal._" She hugs her knees closer. "That kind of thinking is dangerous. Especially with...How I've been dreaming lately. _All the things that I've done in those dreams…_"

"Those are just _dreams,_ Trish."

"But what if I stop knowing the difference?" She holds his gaze sternly, her very real fear finally starting to penetrate into his understanding. He bites his lip.

"Even if that's...Even_ if_ you lose control...We can handle ourselves, and we can handle you. We'll get you help," he promises her. "You need to stop worrying about _us_ so much."

"I don't want to hurt you guys," Her sight falls to her knees, and tears begin to trickle down her face. He leans in towards her and wipes them away, then cups her cheek with his hand.

"You're not _going_ to," he insists, his hand still in place on her face. She rests her own on his for a moment before pulling his hand off.

"Can you go put on some clothes? This is weird." She gestures at his towel and bare torso. He smiles, nudging her with his elbow.

"It's weird in a _good_ way though, right?" he teases, smiling even wider at her eyeroll. _He missed it so._ "Ally's doing laundry. I have to wait."

"There's clothes in there. About your size, I think," she nods her head at the closet. Dez picks himself up and heads over to sift through them.

"These'll work." He pulls out a simple salmon-colored button-up and a pair of black slacks. "Kind of boring, but, they're clean. You know, for a guy who lives in the middle of woods, he sure does have a lot of formal office-wear."

"I think this might've been a summer home or something. Feels more like a getaway than a home. There's no family photos around at all." She lets her legs hang over the side of the bed.

"Maybe." He sets the clothes down on a chair. "I can't believe this house still has power. You really lucked out finding this place."

"Yeah, _lucky me. _All alone, surrounded by only zombies, and likely having a mental breakdown - but, hey! _At least I can do laundry and turn the lights on._" She scoffs.

"You're alive." Dez states solemnly, taking a seat again beside her on the bed. "You're alive and you're here talking with me like we used to. That's all the luck I need." He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, gets up, and retrieves the clothes that he'd picked out. He turns to her before walking out the door. "You'll be okay. _We'll_ be okay."

Somehow, she allows herself to believe him.

* * *

**So. It's been forever and a day. My bad.**

**Hope you like this new chapter!**


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